


29 Neibolt Street

by lemonadeandrice



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: College AU, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 84,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonadeandrice/pseuds/lemonadeandrice
Summary: This is a College!AU Losers story. All of the Losers get a house together after college.





	1. Stanley Uris Takes a Bath

**Author's Note:**

> No Pennywise, but Georgie is still dead because I'm a monster who loves suffering. Thanks!

From the street, the house looked significantly worn down, shutters and roof tiles knocked sideways from years of heavy rain and winds. The front door was painted a deep muddy red, lacquer peeling at the edges of the knocker. The portico leaned a little on one side over the porch and the soggy wooden steps sagged in the center. Two windows, like grime-filmed eyes, peeked over the portico. There was a rounded corner on stage left of the house, much like a tower, the siding of which had chipped away in some places. The house at 29 Neibolt Street was definitely in need of some TLC.

Richie Tozier's rusted 1997 Ford pickup truck grumbled up to the curb outside, Nirvana blasting out the rolled down window. Eddie Kaspbrak, mop of brown curls fluttering in the breeze, leaned out until his chest rested on the sill. He chewed the inside of his cheek, then turned to look at Richie.

Richie, five foot eleven and so lanky it looked as though he had folded his arms up nine times to fit them over the steering wheel, was squinting up at the house through the windshield, dark eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses.

"What do you think?" Eddie asked, looking back at the house. It gave off a serious air of "haunted".

Behind him, Richie shrugged, looking in the rear view mirror. "I dunno, Bill looked at it. He said it's okay on the inside. Tons of bedrooms. At least two bathrooms probably."

"It must be bigger on the back then." Eddie pulled himself back inside the car, smoothing the front of his green polo shirt.

Richie and Eddie had been friends since elementary school, and their friendship had bloomed as they grew, now both 23 - Eddie was two months younger, but the only person to point that out was Richie himself. Their friendship had been through a lot, what with all of childhood and puberty behind them, they had seen the absolute best and worst of each other. Richie's absentee parents, Eddie's overbearing mother, broken arms, blackened eyes, screaming at one another at 2:15 am in the middle of Jackson Street when Eddie came out to the others first, because, "How could you not tell me, Eds? I'm your best friend!" and "Jesus Rich are you goddamn blind?" but ending with, "I fucking love you, 'kay? And if you ever wanna practice blowjo-" and "Beep beep, Richie."

Eddie had just graduated college from the University of Maine with a degree in health and recreation and Richie was taking classes through Penobscot County Community College. When Bill approached them with the idea to shack up with the rest of the Losers at this, "Great place, on Neibolt, p-p-shit-past the trailer park?" they had practically snatched the offer before Bill could finish. Richie could finally move out of Donald Elbert's rundown shack of an apartment, where the carpet was not its original color from cigarette burns and overflowing beer and according to the thin waxy residue on the walls, meth had been smoked inside at some point. That wasn't Richie's scene; he just smoked yellow American Spirits. Eddie, in the same breath, would do ANYTHING not to have to move back in with his mother. He was sure if he looked at his phone right now, he would have at least six missed calls and 27 text messages asking where he was, was he okay, why wasn't he answering, Eddie, oh Eddie please call. His mother who, ever since he had broken his arm the summer he turned 11 and had revealed to her he knew his "medicine" was fake, was dictionary Munchausen by proxy to a fault. After he had come out to her, well, Beverly then Bill then Mike and Stan then Ben then Richie THEN her, she had all but cut him off from having a normal social life. Thank god for the acceptance letter from UMaine. He had gone, and flourished, by god. Parties, Alpha Gamma Rho, boys - heavens the boys - and a job at a coffee shop. He had made so many amazing friends, but none of them would ever replace the Losers.

Now they sat together in Richie's secondhand navy truck, waiting for them to arrive. Not far behind them, they could see Beverly's Jeep coming down the road. She and Ben had hitched a little U-Haul to it, which carried an odd assortment of boxes and pieces of furniture, some of which was theirs. The others would probably be riding along in the larger box truck Bill had rented with the couches and chairs, a small kitchen table and ramshackle mixing of chairs, more boxes, a poorly bubble-wrapped television courtesy of Richie, and a stack of mattresses.

"We're talking about the house, not your mom," Richie started.

"Beep beep, Rich." Eddie smiled at him. His teeth were stark whites against the deepening tan of his skin. The past four summers had been good to him.

A honk came from behind them and they turned in their seats to see Beverly Marsh waving at them. She killed the engine of the jeep and got out, heart shaped shades covering her baby blues. She was wearing shorts, cut off halfway down her thighs, scribbled on with multicolored sharpie, courtesy of all of the Losers and a quick signature on the right butt pocket from Emily Nokes from Tacocat. Her freckled shoulders were exposed to the sun, a sheer blue croptop pulled up over her belly button. She pulled a cigarette from behind her right ear and fished a lighter out of her pocket. Richie and Eddie got out of the truck, Richie following suit with the smoke and they exhaled together.

"How was the drive?" Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He held his breath whenever the breeze pushed the cigarette smoke in his direction. His asthma had died down - all in his head after all - but the smell sometimes made him sneeze.

Beverly exhaled and licked her bottom lip. "Not too terrible honestly, traffic was shit as I was leaving, but all in all, I got here in two hours flat." She kicked at a pebble with her stark black Converse.

"It's because you drive like an asshole." Richie laughed, flicking the condensing ash off the end of his cigarette. Beverly snorted and she adjusted the piercing through her septum.

"Shit you right bitch." She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture.

Eddie smiled. Two of his best friends were here, and soon, they would all be living together under one roof. He looked at Bev, then Richie. He had to squint because Richie's head was at the level of the sun from his own five foot four. Richie radiated happiness. Eddie had a feeling that he felt the same way about the housing situation, regardless of outward appearances.

Not far off, the sound of a motorcycle roared closer. Bev giggled and clapped her hands together, knocking the cherry out of her cigarette. "Oh my fucking god, wait till you see his new bike, okay? Fucking gorgeous."

She was referring, of course, to Ben Hanscom. The two had been an off and on thing since middle school, only because she had moved up to Portland to live with her aunt. She came back to her Losers every summer, and every summer, she and Ben had rekindled their tiny burning flame of a romance. Then when she came back the summer after sophomore year, she found Ben a completely changed man. He had slimmed down significantly, and shot up a whole foot, standing at six foot two now. He towered over her, but she loved it. She could not remember a time, really, that she had not loved him. Even when he was a chubby little boy she had loved him, he had treated her like a princess since day one. And now, officially together, their love was strong and passionate. They could often be found kissing, huffing and panting in hallways, sneaking away from parties to make love anywhere and everywhere, looping pinkies as they walked. But of course, they were madly in love.

Ben's Yamaha rolled around the jeep onto the opposite side of the road. He killed the engine and adjusted the lapel of his leather jacket. Bev looked excitedly at Richie and Eddie, who raised his eyebrows at her, and then bit her lip and ran to him. He pulled off his black helmet, and smoothed his hair. He had a thin graze of stubble across his jaw and his face lit up when he saw her. Before he could even dismount, she was kissing him, throwing her arms around his neck and tossing her smoke simultaneously. Richie looked at Eddie and winked. "We could be hot and heavy like that you know."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Are we going for a 'beep' record today, Rich?" He pushed playfully at Richie's arm and blushed. Richie's arms were toned and gave little against his fingertips. For some reason touching Richie's skin made Eddie's fingers burn.

Ben had dug a hand in Beverly's short auburn hair, and she moaned against his mouth. His stubble bit at her skin but she liked it. He smiled into her teeth. "Baby, how I have missed you."

She giggled. "You know I love it when you call me baby like that," she placed another kiss on his mouth. "And you just saw me last weekend."

He smirked and looked up at the sky, a mock eye roll. "Too long. Five damn days. But now," he pulled her closer to him and she tossed her head back, giggling. "We get to live together. You ready for that?" He turned his head down a little so he could look up at her through thick eyelashes.

"As long as you can help me fix this place up. Look at it."

They turned and looked. Ben blew a long wind of air from between his teeth. He squinched his eyes at the awnings and his mind whirled around the dimensions of the turret. He was good with his hands, and with Mike's carpentry skills and Stan's attention to detail, they could probably straighten all of the leaning bits and pieces of the house. It was Victorian, and had at one point been painted what Ben thought was a light grey. It would be a great project, he thought.

"Oh, it's not so bad," he said, looking back at her. "A little bit of a fixer-upper." She smiled, and kissed him yet again as a U-Haul and a small silver Toyota pulled up behind her jeep. It was Bill, Stan, and Mike.

They killed the engines of their respective vehicles and each got out. Bill Denbrough tossed a wave, the keys of the U-Haul dangling from his fingers. He pushed them into his back pocket and turned to wait for Stan and Mike. The two came up and Bill slapped Mike on the back, laughing at something Richie, Eddie, Ben, and Bev could not hear. They approached, Stan and Mike jabbering on about their drive. Richie dropped his cigarette and squashed it under the heel of his combat boot, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

"Jesus tits, kids, took ya long enough. I thought you had forgotten about us!" He said to them and Stan rolled his eyes, walking up to give Richie a hug.

"Trashmouth," he lamented. It had been nearly a year since they had seen each other, what with Stan Uris having been at University of Southern Maine in Portland studying environmental science and biology so that he could go on to get a Masters in Ornithology, which he planned to go to Orono to get, and Richie was, well, here. They had been extremely close since elementary and it made Richie a little jealous that Beverly got to see Stan more than he did. But he was here now and they would be close like before.

Ben and Mike Hanlon clasped hands and pulled it into a hug. Mike was two inches shorter than Ben, but just as stacked. After working on his parents' farm for nearly half of his life and playing football in high school and throughout his time at Bowdoin College, he had put on some healthy weight. He was even starting to gain on Ben, perhaps. Beverly hugged Mike as well, placing a burgundy lipstick stain on his cheek. "Mike, beautiful, how have you been?" She asked, her smile pulling the corners of her eyes into three tiny wrinkles.

He pulled his arms over his head in a stretch and looked back at Stan, who was chatting with Bill, Richie, and Eddie. Turning back to Bev and Ben he sighed. "The drive was easy, it was trying to make library studies sound exciting to someone learning about the insides of birds."

Ben scoffed. "I'm sure it is exciting!"

Mike laughed in response as Ben finally dismounted the Yamaha. "I like it, okay? I get to look at books ninety percent of my day." They walked to join the rest of the group.

Bill smiled at Bev and Ben, their hands clasped together. He gave them both hugs, and Bev gave him a matching lip mark to Mike's on his cheek. Then Bill turned to the house.

"So, this is the place." He said. His stutter had completely disappeared - well, almost completely, occasionally he got caught on 'p's and 'b's. After the accident, the one where his brother was killed on impact as a drunk driver t-boned his family's car as they drove to see his grandparents, the stutter appeared. He had taken so many classes, seen so many speech therapists, and finally, one of them had worked. And he did pretty damn well now if he did say so himself.

He had missed his friends, it was that simple. And he had been riding his bike around town one day after visiting his parents when he had passed by this hunk of wood at 29 Neibolt Street, a wobbly tin sign that read, 'For Rent' in the dying grass on the front lawn. He'd taken a flyer and read all the information. Six bedrooms, one of which had been used as an office for a long time apparently, four bathrooms, two on the first floor and two on the second, one of which was in the master bedroom, a large kitchen and adjoining dining room, a living room fading out of the foyer. There was also an unfinished basement with a washer dryer from the early years of the millennium. Bill knew he himself couldn't, wouldn't, shit - didn't - need a house with six bedrooms. But he did know six people who wouldn't mind having a house. Somewhere to call their own. Even if it was just until they got on to the next chapter of their lives.

Rent was $3500, easily conceived between he and his friends, but honestly he didn't think they would really take him up on the chance. He knew without at least three of the others, it wouldn't work, but then what would he have done with the two extra bedrooms? They were spacious enough rooms, all of them, so he didn't need an office. He wanted them all there. To be as close as they were in the Barrens as kids. To go back to that.

He had called Ben first. He knew if Ben came Beverly would surely follow, but it had actually been Bev who said yes first. He had been on speakerphone and she was washing dishes in Ben's small apartment kitchen.

"Fuck yes!" She had shouted over the running water and Ben had laughed. "We will be there." He said.

Next he had called Richie. He knew Richie was living with the Elbert guy from school, and from what he knew of the Elbert guy, Rich needed somewhere better. Not that Richie didn't party - oh he could throw down with the best of them, sure. But Elbert was into too many shady things for Bill's liking. He wanted his friends safe. They'd dealt with enough shit as kids. Bev and Richie especially.

Richie had been with Eddie oddly enough; the two were apparently having a Game of Thrones marathon. Richie had husked into the phone, "Hang on a sec," and Bill heard him whisper to Eddie, "Do you wanna live with a bunch of fucking Losers?'

Eddie had said something along the lines of, "You fuckin' serious?" and perhaps Richie had nodded because there was no audible answer. There was a long winded, "YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!" as Eddie screamed his answer and Bill had his.

Then he called Mike, who was on lunch from the public library he worked at in Brunswick. "Do you want to live with me and the rest of the Losers in Derry?"

Mike made a choking sound, perhaps from his lunch, and took a moment to clear his throat. Bill let him. He knew what it was like to need a moment to collect your voice.

"Who all is coming?" He asked when he finally regained his breath.

Bill named off those who had said yes. "No Stan?" Mike asked.

"I just haven't called him yet." Bill replied.

There was a sigh on the other end. "Do you think he'll come too?"

Bill pondered it for a moment. He didn't know why not. Graduation was coming up - they were all going to watch Stan walk and then a few weeks after that go see Eddie do the same. Why wouldn't they? Stan said he wanted to take a year between his BA and his Masters and relax, maybe work some. Why wouldn't he relish in the chance to be with his friends again? Maybe for the last time before they all actually "grew up" and maybe Ben and Bev got married and Eddie met a nice guy and Richie joined a rock band or something. The last time before adult jobs and full responsibility. He shrugged to himself.

"Once a Loser, always a Loser." He finally said. It was just stupid, hopeful, wishful thinking.

That seemed to be answer enough for Mike, who agreed. He would see if he couldn't get a job at the Derry Public Library and try to be there before the school year was up.

Stan actually called Bill. "Mike called me," he explained, and before Bill could even respond or ask if that meant he would come too, Stan said, "My lease is up after graduation, I'll start packing."

And now they were all here. Standing in front of this thrown together stack of beams and windows, and it was all theirs.

"Are we gonna die in there?" Richie asked as they all looked at the house. Three of them cocked their heads to glare at him. Eddie, who was standing next to him made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. "Christ Rich."

Bill just laughed. "Let's go inside."

They all grabbed some boxes from their vehicles and started towards the door. The grass on the sides of the cobbled path was a pale green that signified it was dying - an easy fix, Mike mentioned - but everyone was chattering with excitement. Eddie took the stairs carefully, a backpack tossed over one shoulder. Richie made a comment along the lines of, "Grandma get your ass into gear!", to which Eddie responded, "Shut the fuck up Richie I'm trying not to snap my fucking ankle," and Bill looked for the key for this particular lock. As they entered, there was a gasp from Beverly, a quick, "Shit," from Richie, Eddie coughed, and the others just looked around in awe.

Things were dusty, yes, but everything was still solid as the day it was built. How the outside could become so destroyed but the inside stay relatively decent was beyond them. "This place is definitely haunted." Eddie said, and this is when, if he had still been a kid, he would have used his inhaler.

"It's not haunted!" Beverly laughed.

"If you hear some ghosts fucking in the walls Eds, you just come hide under my covers. Granted I sleep naked -"

"Beep beep, Richie." They chorused.

He shrugged. "Dibs on the big room!" He said and began bounding up the stairs.

Ben threw his head back with laughter and started to chase Richie. "No way, I'm bunking with a girl!"

"And she'll kick your ass if you take that fucking room!" Beverly laughed, following suit.

Eddie rolled his eyes and chuckled, walking over to Stan, who had pulled out a list of all of the rooms and where everything should go. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, doors patterned down a long hallway. The master was at the end of the hall, and took up what they thought might be the entirety of the back of the house. There were three bedrooms on the left side of the hall and two on the other, the bathroom slab in the middle on the right.

Ben and Beverly indeed got the master bedroom, but of course it was taken with some loving threats on Bev's part towards Richie. He sighed and took the last bedroom on the left. Eddie took the first bedroom on the right, which came off the stairs almost immediately - while moving his boxes from Richie's truck upstairs, he walked right past it three times, missing the door while chattering on with Stan about groceries or Beverly about her new ear piercings, which he commented didn't look infected.

It took them a total of five hours, working together to bring in all of their things. Mike and Eddie made up a quick list of groceries to grab, with a few extra items thrown on the list in Richie's scrawling cursive - Eddie looked at the list and then to Richie, glaring in an exhausted way up at him, "Beep beep, Richard." to which Richie replied, "Please, call me Dick." - and they, along with Bill had left.

Richie went to fiddling with a set of speakers sat in front of the television, which they had set on the floor next to the fireplace to place above it later. Ben mentioned he was unsure if the heat from the potential fires was safe for the tv, hell, he was worried that the wall in front of the flue wouldn't be strong enough to hold the tv up. Richie told him he should be more adventurous. Beverly laughed and reminded him of all the adventures that ended with him breaking his nose or glasses. Then they all went to their new rooms, and sighed with relief. They were all home.

 

•••

 

Later that night, a little past seven, Stan was the first to try out the shower in the upstairs bathroom. After they had unpacked the cars, gone to buy groceries, fought with Richie about why, no, he couldn't cut holes in the walls to place the speakers, and unpacked the essentials from their boxes, he had decided he would take a shower - no, a bath - to soak and let the day's moving stresses wash away.

At first Eddie was wary of having everyone's stuff in the shower at once because of the possibility of mold growing, but Bill and Mike ensured him if it was really that big of a deal, there were two perfectly good bathrooms downstairs. Richie said when he wasn't going to walk down stairs in the middle of the night to wash his hair so he would use the upstairs bathroom. Eddie gaped at him.

"You're just waking up at all hours of the night to wash your hair?"

Richie pulled a curl out between his index finger and thumb, letting it bounce back into place, watching it cross-eyed. "Absolutely, I never know when I need to re-grease this shit. Now I could just use -"

"You know, Rich," Eddie cut him off. "Do whatever you'd like."

Richie reached out and pinched Eddie's blushing cheek. "Goddamn you're cute. Cute, cute, cute!"

And that had been the end of that.

So, Stan went to take a bath. He pulled his shirt over his head, dirty blonde hair just as curly as Richie and Eddie's. How did three of them get such ridiculous curls? Mike was adamant that his hair could be stupid curly like that but he kept it in a tight fade along his scalp. Stan had told him no matter what his hair would look good, and they had both stared at the floor after that, cheeks burning.

He gathered up his towel, white with blue stripes and wrapped it around his naked waist. He had already carefully placed his toiletries in the hanging caddy which Eddie had set over the showerhead - some Old Spice body wash, a bottle of shampoo/conditioner combo that had been picked up so many times the label had rubbed off in some places, and a razor to shave his face. Stan was all about saving time and water. But tonight he would be just a little bit wasteful, so that he could ponder over the day's events. He opened his door to the bedroom, first on the left, and closed it silently behind him. He padded over to the bathroom, the warped hardwood floor cold under his feet. He could hear Eddie and Richie talking quickly just down the stairs, Mike occasionally laughing at what they were saying.

Mike's laughter made Stan's heart jump a little. When they had first met 12 years ago, they had been almost closer than the others. Stan couldn't tell you why that was honestly. Then it was if one day he had woken up, met the other Losers in the Barrens and Mike had just been there. Their eyes locked, two sets of brown and his chest had filled with a buzzing he could only attribute to the rapidly beating wings of an Archilochus colubris. It was if with just a look, they said to each other, oh it's you, it's always been you.

They had stayed away for a few years, letting their feelings grow and bloom under summer suns and winter moons, until Mike turned 16, a mere ten days before Stan had, and they stayed behind at the quarry after the other Losers had headed home, a birthday celebration planned for that evening. They had sat, two teenagers, fiddling with the grass. Mike had squinted into the sun, the water from their swim drying on his dark skin.

"I think I love you, Stanley." His voice was quiet, but Stan heard him plain as day. His heart jumped into his throat and he smiled without thinking.

"You think?" Stan said coyly. They caught each other's eyes again, and it was Mike who shyly broke the stare.

He chuckled. "I think I have for a while..." he paused.

Stan instinctively reached his hand out and placed it over Mike's, intertwining their fingers. His skin was pale and milky in comparison to Mike's, but the colors contrasted in stark perfection.

"You should know I think I love you too." He said after a few moments.

"You think?" Mike said smartly, and they both laughed.

Stan's heart had been pounding now, a hammer against a tin roof, and he could feel Mike's under his fingers. "Now what?" He asked, his voice catching a little in his throat.

Mike had kissed him then. It was gentle and testing, Mike's top lip fitting neatly over Stan's lower one. It had been chaste and clean, and the whole night at the party, Stan could not pull his fingers from his mouth, thinking over the static electricity that had resided there not hours before.

He initiated the next kiss as the party died down, Richie flopped drunkenly over the edge of the couch, muttering to Eddie about his shoes, his SHOES, Eddie! don't let Bev draw a dick on my face, leave my shoes on, Eddie fussing over him, laughing and threatening to untie the laces on his white checkerboard Converse. Bev wasn't even there, Stan knew, she and Ben had disappeared somewhere in the upstairs of Richie's parents' house hours ago. Bill had passed out, curled into a ball in the armchair.

This kiss had not been chaste or clean. Stan had followed Mike into the kitchen, carrying half a dozen empty bottles and cans to the trash can. Mike turned and leaned against the counter, smiling gently at him. Stan pondered his next move for a moment, then rushed at him, slamming his mouth full force into the other, their noses clashing against one another. Mike had laughed slyly, pushing his hands up into Stan's curly hair as Stan grinded his hips against Mike's jeans. They had moaned into open mouths, tongues pressing against one another, Mike tugged gently at his hair in order to expose his neck, where he placed a great many biting kisses. It had ended with Stanley, who would never admit it to any of the other Losers, but Mike knew, coming from the excitement in his pressed khakis. They were panting, pressing foreheads against each other, laughing and kissing and smiling.

They hadn't made love that night. That would come a few years down the line.

Stan locked the door behind him and folded his towel over the rusty towel rack and leaned to turn on the hot water. This was one of those situations where he had to think about the hot and cold water. There were two knobs, but the 'hot' and 'cold' labels had rubbed off long ago. He went for it, turning the left knob all the way over and then holding his hand under the water to see which way it would go. Miraculously, it warmed up rather quickly, and he stopped up the claw foot tub, its dragon foot legs a tarnished silver color. While the tub filled, he looked at himself in the mirror.

His jawline was a jutting angle, sharp and crisp like the lines of his freckles nose. His hair folded and rippled in tiny wavy curls, springlike in their form. His eyes were brown, and red from having to squint at his phone while they drove, pointing aimlessly as he gave Mike the directions. His chest and shoulders were broad, a thin inkling of chest hair dappled above his nipples. He wasn't muscular in any sense that he could see, meaning he didn't have a six pack or anything, but he was toned and thin. Mike could fit his hands cleanly over each pectoral muscle, his touch always kind.

The tub filled rather quickly, steam rolling off the surface of the water. Tentatively, he stuck his foot into the water, hissing between his teeth as he entered the scalding water. He lowered himself into it, letting the heat soak into his skin. He rested his head on the backside of the tub, which was a good foot and half from the walls aside from where the showerhead was posted. He let his body be consumed by the water, lapping over his goosefleshed skin. He closed his eyes, long eyelashes licking the top of his cheeks.

After about twenty minutes, he heard some sort of scuffle from below and his eyes snapped open. He pulled himself up against the sides of the tub and listened, but the sound had ceased. He shrugged and turned to his toiletries.

The silver razor sat neatly next to his soaps and shampoos and he picked it up, studying its blades. There were five of them, each sharp and deadly, like teeth in the mouth of a rabid dog. He carefully placed his thumb over the top blade, and dragged it down, with the grain. Each tooth plucked at his flesh silently, and he wondered absentmindedly how girls could possibly shave their legs with this. He would have to ask Beverly sometime how often she cut herself.

From below again there was a slamming of doors and some sort of yelling - Richie probably- and Stan slid his thumb horizontally across one of the razor blades, slicing his skin open. He gasped and dropped the razor, nearly onto his leg, shoving the stuck thumb in his mouth to staunch the blood. Moments later came the steady bumping of bass from the speakers, something that sounded vaguely like 'Welcome to the Jungle' but Stan couldn't be for sure. He stood up quickly, holding his cut thumb out at an angle so as not to drip blood on anything - Eddie would throw a fit. He unstopped the tub and the water began to run down in the tendrils of a whirlpool. He yanked down his towel and hastily wrapped it around his waist, pushing the hair away from his steamed face.

He opened the door, peeking his head out. It was definitely 'Welcome to the Jungle' blasting in the living room and rattling the rest of the house with its volume. He looked up and down the hallway, the cool air hitting his wet legs making him shiver. Moments later Beverly and Richie were coming up the stairs, Bev's hands squeezing the sides of Richie's face, he was making a kissy pout at her. They were laughing and it wasn't until they were practically on top of him that they saw Stan.

"Stan the Man!" Richie screeched. "The party has arrived and he is buck-ass naked!"

"Party?" Stan replied, ignoring the latter comment.

Bev nodded. "The housewarming party!"

"I didn't know we were having a party?" Stan said, blood dripping unceremoniously down his hand.

Richie scoffed. "You underestimate the power of Richard Tozier!" He said, and Stan could smell liquor on his breath. They had already started the party, apparently. "I called up everyone I know and some randos from the phone book and we are breaking this bitch in!" He held in his hand a semi-crushed can of Pabst and he sloshed it over the floor as he raised the hand to toast, emitting a whooping cry that echoed down the hallway.

Stan laughed and shook his head. Bev was just laughing and biting aimlessly on the end of a cigarette. She saw the blood on his hand and snatched it up, cooing.

"Your finger!" She said, his blood staining her own hands.

He gently pulled it away. "It's fine. Nothing Dr. Kaspbrak can't fix up if need be." He chuckled.

Eddie had always sort of been the doctor of the group, what with all the bells and whistles stashed away inside his fanny packs. He always seemed to be carrying around at least one roll of gauze, some medical tape, tweezers, bandaids of varying sizes and patterns, ointments and sprays for all issues, and on one occasion, a small dropper vial of peroxide for particularly nasty scrapes. They had all grown quite accustom to watching in awe as he would set Richie's nose or clean up scrapes on Bill's knees from falling off Silver. There had also been the time Henry Bowers, resident asshole of Derry, had carved the first letter of his name into the pale white baby skin of Ben's stomach. Ben, of course, had handled Eddie's careful hands with humility, except when Beverly had showed up of course. The cut had healed nicely, regardless of the three-sticked scar Ben now had to show for it.

Stan made a note to see if he couldn't steal a bandaid from Eddie's room before he joined the others downstairs.

"It looks owie." Richie belched. Beverly pushed him.

"You nasty bitch." She laughed at him, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so.

He snapped his teeth at her and made a low growling sound in his throat. "Girl you don't want to know nasty -"

"Beep beep, Richie." Stan said, shaking his head.

Richie shrugged and dragged Beverly along, perhaps in search of a lighter or more cigarettes. Stan watched them go down to Richie's room and fall through the door.

God how he loved them both.

He went into his room to throw some on clothes, pulling open a suitcase he had filled with neatly folded pants and polos.

If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to dress to impress Mike. Even now, nearly seven years later, he still wanted to give the man butterflies. Mike gave them to him - why shouldn't he return the favor?

He chose a pair of jeans, something he didn't wear often, but dressed it up by shrugging on a clean black button up, something no doubt Mike would have trouble unbuttoning later if he drank too much.

Stan wasn't sure how he should act around Mike now that they all lived together. It's not that they were ashamed of their relationship in any way, moreso that it wasn't particularly anyone's business but their own, not even their best friends. Stan was quiet when it came to this sort of stuff. He wasn't big on PDA and the most they did in public when they were out together was hold hands.

And it seemed like the house would be completely overrun with rainbow flags if they came out too - what with Eddie being, "The gayest gay who ever gayed sometimes." And Richie who was, as he so delicately put it, "A big fan of anything he can go in and around and upside down on." Whatever that meant in particular. Stan had watched him flit from relationship to relationship with people, regardless of gender for years, but he never stayed with anyone long.

There were so many facets to he and Mike's relationship that made the secrecy easy. For one, neither of them were out to their families, and it didn't seem strange when they hung out one on one because the other Losers did that too - Richie and Bev, Bill and Ben, Eddie and Mike. But perhaps it was time they let their relationship be out in the open, no pun intended.

Stan finished getting dressed, running a comb through his hair as best he could. With thick curls like his, it was tough to pull anything through it. Once in high school Beverly had tried to straighten his hair to see what he would look like "emo" and it ended up looking more crimped than anything else.

He brushed down the collar of his shirt and left his room. The music was bumping throughout the house, now 'Africa' by Toto playing. Richie must be in charge of the music, Stan thought.

He went across the hall to Eddie's room, his finger still bleeding in an oozing fashion. He knocked tentatively, but he wouldn't have been able to hear if Eddie said, "Come in!" with the music so loud. So he opened the door.

"Eddie?" He said, but no one was there. Eddie must be downstairs at the party already. He entered the room, looking around at all its contents and hoping the first aid kid was out in the open.

The room was messy, boxes still lying stacked on top of one another and the bed was hastily made. There was a desk placed against the south wall, a small reading lamp lit on it. The first aid kid, like a token, sat dead center. He trotted over to it, popping the lid open and rummaging through it to find what he was looking for.

In a small box were 15 Star Wars themed bandaids and he peeled one over his thumb. He tossed the paper into the wastebasket to the right and dusted his pants off, a notebook catching his eye. It was opened about halfway through, Eddie's small cubic handwriting covering three fourths of the page.

Stan squinted at it, being nosy clearly, but he couldn't help himself.

"...and he's doing all the right things but Jesus Christ does he piss me off... I don't know what to do about it anymore...my heart hurts in so many ways..." it read.

Stanley looked away, embarrassed. He guessed it was Eddie's diary. He slowly backed away as if he had stumbled across an angry wild animal and crept back out into the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him and then began down the stairs, running his hand along the splintered handrail for balance.

Downstairs in the living room had gathered fifteen or twenty people, but even as he entered the foyer, four more people came in the door. Stan recognized maybe three of them from high school but the rest were strangers. He panned the room for Mike, but couldn't see him over the crowd. He saw Richie, Eddie, and Beverly standing by a small table with a laptop on it and they were screaming at each other, pointing frantically at the screen and then making wild hand gestures at Richie, who had his hands out in front of him defensively. Stan walked over to join them.

"No one wants to listen to your "Masturbation Playlist", Richie!" Eddie cried, holding his hands to his head and laughing ridiculously.

"It's literally just sounds of your mom moaning on loop for seven hours! Who doesn't love that!" Richie retorted, scrolling down the long extensive list of music he had pulled up on the screen.

"You've got that Die Antwoord song here nine times, Rich. Jesus! We can only take so much South African rap." Beverly added.

"Oh because your music is so much better?" Richie snickered.

"We listen to the same shit, Richie!" She threw her hands up and saw Stan.

"Stanny you're here!" She exclaimed. He smiled and nodded.

"Eddie I stole a bandaid, hope that's ok."

Eddie screwed up his face a little. "What'd you do?"

Stan shrugged. "Cut my finger on a razor."

Eddie's eyes got wide. "Did you clean the wound? Because razors hold a lot of dead skin cells and you could really easily get an infec-"

"Relax Eds, he's not gonna die. Stan's got the immune system of a machine man." Richie said, tossing an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "A machine man? A robot dude!" He concluded, eyebrows raised.

"Richie you're getting too drunk too fast. And it's an android." Eddie said, not removing the arm.

"Richie has an iPhone..." Beverly said, confused.

"The word you're looking for is cyborg." Stan said, no one listening.

"I happen to be getting just the right amount of drunk in the right amount of time!" His shaggy haired friend replied.

Stan shook his head and looked around the room. Still no Mike, but Ben and Bill were posted up near the kitchen door talking to a girl with long straight auburn hair. She seemed really invested in whatever Bill was explaining to her, laughing and putting a hand on his arm. He had a beer in his opposite hand and sipped from it nervously.

"Who's that Bill's talking to?" Stan asked.

Beverly waved her hand, returning her eyes to the computer again. "Audra something. Flagg's cousin. Came with him from Portland."

Stan nodded. Gay or not, he could recognize that she was cute. Maybe Bill had a shot. He deserved that.

"Where's Mike?" Stan asked, looking at the three of them out of the corner of his eye. Eddie was smiling awkwardly at the ground, Richie's arm still wrapped around his narrow shoulders. Richie had placed his chin on top of Eddie's head and was yammering on to him about the sustainability of a party if Backstreet Boys started playing. Beverly looked up.

"Last I saw he was in the kigchen," she slurred, pointing over towards Bill and Ben. Stan nodded and headed that direction.

Bill and Ben greeted him warmly. "Stan you made it!" Ben joked, slapping him on the shoulder.

"I know, it was such a long trek I didn't think I'd make it on time." Stan replied sarcastically.

"Stan this is Audra Phillips," Bill said. "Audra, this is Stan Uris, one of the roommates." The two shook hands and she smiled brightly, all teeth shining white.

"This place is great!" She said, looking up at Bill. He had been staring at her and looked away quickly, blushing.

"Stan you need a drink?" Ben asked, gesturing at his empty hands.

"Yeah, I was looking for Mike, too." He hoped that didn't sound suspicious, but he pushed the worry away.

"Yeah," Ben nodded through the doorway. "He's in there making mixed drinks of some sort for some sorority types."

Stan nodded a thanks and pardoned himself through the entry.

Indeed Mike was at the small island in the center of the kitchen, five plastic cups in front of him as well as an array of liquor bottles. He was surrounded by four girls, all varying degrees of blonde, mostly tall - Stan noticed they were all wearing heels - and watching Mike in amazement as he threw some ice cubes in the cups. When Stan entered, the smile on his face grew ten times. Stan's cheeks burned and he bit his lip.

"Hey! Where've you been?" Mike asked, the girls all turning to look at Stan. Two of them fluttered their eyelashes and he grinned.

"Upstairs, I didn't realize we were bumping tonight." He said.

Mike shrugged. "Count on Rich to attempt a rager our first night." Stan came up and leaned against the island, his hands curling over the marble countertop.

"Ladies, this is Stan. Stan, this is Christine, Danielle, Fran, and Annie." Mike pointed down the line, each of the girls smiling wildly at Stan. He nodded a hello. It had been Christine and Fran who had given him the eyes and for a moment he pitied them. He only had eyes for the tall dark-skinned boy across from him.

"What are we drinking?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at them.

"Not sure yet, still testing the waters." Mike said. "I don't think they can handle all this." He waved his hands over the bottles. Jack, Jim, Crown, Captain, and a small plastic bottle of Fireball. He had arranged some cans of Coke and Diet Sprite next to the cups as well, the tabs cracked on at least two of them.

"We can handle anything you give us." One of the girls said, and Stan rolled his eyes.

"Pick your poison." Mike said, winking at him. The girls, chattering at Annie, who had made the comment, didn't notice. But he had, just as Mike wanted. He shifted nervously in his jeans, his ears ringing. God even just looking at him made his mind race.

Mike licked his lips and he started picking up bottles, pouring them haphazardly into the cups. Stan watched his hands as he did so. Strong hands, calloused from years of backbreaking farm work, hoeing and tilling and working with livestock. Hands that squeezed Stan's own tentatively whenever something scary happened in a movie they were watching. Hands that pulled his hair just enough to emit a small squeak of pleasure from deep in his chest. Hands that knew which ribs to touch gingerly, to make him gasp as he rode him. Hands that ran through his hair as his head rested in his lap, watching the Poecile atricapillus and Uria Lomvia as they traveled south. Hands that held his face and wiped away tears when his grandmother died, non-Hodgkins lymphoma. These were hands Stanley knew well, and they were only a piece of the man he was so deeply in love with that his chest hurt.

He had been so lost in the way Mike's knuckles bent and moved that he hadn't seen everything that went to the cup, which Mike was now pushing towards him. "That will help with the sobriety." The six of them raised the cups in a mock cheers.

"What are toasting to?" Fran asked.

Mike and Stan locked eyes. Stan shrugged. "To the Agapornis personata." He said.

The girls attempted to repeat, "Aga...por-iss uh...personada...." not even knowing what it meant. But Mike did. And he was so glad he did.

They slammed the cups down on the counter and slammed them back. The combination of liquids burned his throat - there was definitely Fireball in there - and when it was all the way down he coughed dryly. The girls coughed too and only one of them grimaced in disgust.

From the living room, "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s came on. They heard Beverly roar, "Richie no!" followed by Richie screaming, "Richie yes!" There were a few seconds of the music jumping from one song back to "Rock Lobster" then to another then back again. The music landed on something sexy and the fighting was done, Beverly had won.

Annie grabbed Mike by the hand, pulling him out of the kitchen into the living room, perhaps to dance. He went hesitantly, throwing Stan a look as he did, and they touched fingertips as he passed. A delicate strike of lightening filled up his stomach. One of the other girls, he believed it was Christine, took his hand, her own soft in his. It was weird and unnatural, not the hand he wanted to hold.

The shot made his head burn, a shrill buzzing filling his ears. The music was in Bev's hands now, Ben standing behind her, whispering in her ear as she giggled. Richie and Eddie had fallen into the couch, and they were speaking very closely, drinks in hand. Well, Richie was speaking closely, his mouth practically grazing Eddie's own. Eddie was laughing and smiling, nodding at whatever it was that Richie was saying. Stan noticed one of Eddie's legs was tucked lazily over Richie's, Richie's hand on his knee. Bill was still talking to Audra, but they had moved to the window, Bill leaning on the sill and she was talking, using her hands to emphasize. Bill was just staring at her, like he was counting all of the freckles on her nose, his face a bright crimson.

Christine turned her back to him, the lyrics of whatever "club" music Bev had put on blurring together. Stan moved with her awkward grinding, if you could call it that, but he was watching Mike.

Annie wasn't dancing with her back to him. She had picked up a beer somewhere in the brief walk and held it daintily in the hand she had slung over Mike's shoulder. He was indulging her, sure, but not too much. He glanced up at Stan and gave him a wicked little grin, giving him a thumbs up as well. Stan rolled his eyes. Beautiful, smartass man.

Mike said something to Annie, who pouted at him and said something back, none of which Stan could hear with the speakers so close. Mike pulled the corner of his mouth up in a sort of, "sorry" look, and walked past her. He came up to Stan and Christine, who stopped dancing.

"Want to help me grab some beers?" He asked, hoping Christine wouldn't take that as an invitation to join them.

Stan bit his lip and nodded, giving Christine a quick and informal goodbye and followed Mike back towards the kitchen.

It was empty, but they didn't stop. Out of sight, Mike grabbed his hand, electricity shooting up through his arm. That feeling, oh god that feeling. He followed him into the hallway that led toward the backdoor and the basement, taking the door outside.

It was cooler than inside, the summer air sweet and thick with humidity. The backyard was fenced in with a rickety wooden privacy fence and there were three birch trees on the far end of the yard. Mike looked at Stan, his breath hard. "I've missed you," he said, standing under the porch light, his hand still wrapped tightly around the other.

Stan took the lead now, running Mike to the standing of trees until they were partially hidden behind the trunk of one.

"I've missed you too. Now fucking kiss me." He said. Mike laughed quietly and did. It was a hard kiss, pushing and frantic. Stan's hands cupped around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Mike's hands were pushing up under his shirt, his hands warm and rough against his skin. He gasped meekly. Mike carefully undid the top button of his shirt, and placed a kiss there.

"Christ," Stan let escape his mouth, which Mike closed off with his own, his tongue probing the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly, Stan was fumbling with the buckle of Mike's belt, his thin fingers frenzied as he tried. Mike looked down, panting and let him, one of his hands pulled up into his hair. He just wanted to touch him, to taste him, to make him feel as good as he did. To love him.

Mike leaned his forehead against Stan's chin, his back crushing into the tree. "Baby," he breathed.

Stan got the belt undone, quickly popping the button on his jeans, and sliding his hand into his pants, feeling him rock hard already. He moaned.

"Stan," Mike choked as he gripped his cock. He just wanted to make him feel good now. "Stan please."

Stan wasn't much of an outdoorsman. He didn't like to get dirty, especially if it meant ruining perfectly good clothes. But he dropped to his knees anyway.

Mike made a weak crying sound as Stan placed a kiss on the fabric of his boxers, soft and waiting. He looked up into Mike's shadowed face. He was breathing shallowly, his brow furrowed.

"I love you Mike." He said. It was the truth, the whole goddamned truth. He felt it in the pit of his stomach and in his chest every day.

Mike chuckled, a sound like he could cry at this perfectly fantastic situation. "I love you too."

Stan nodded, his heart beating so rapidly he could have passed out. He slowly tugged Mike's jeans down, enough so that he could pull his cock out easily, rubbing the shaft with the flat of his hand. Mike moaned and leaned his head back against the tree.

Stanley placed his tongue carefully on the underside of Mike's member, his mouth practically watering at the prospect. He looked up at this man through his eyelashes. Then, he slowly lowered himself over it, listening to the quick hiss he made in pleasure.

He kept time with the motions, up and down, running his tongue over the tip, Mike saying over and over again, "Fuck I love you I love you I love you so goddamn much oh my god I love you."

He could sense Mike was almost there, so close he could literally taste it, when music flooded the yard. Stan disconnected as he heard the back screen door slam into the wall of the house.

He tried to peek around the tree without being seen.

It was Richie and Beverly, smoke curling around their heads and Richie was hollering about something or another. He sighed.

"It's Rich and Bev." Mike was already buckling his pants back up, but slowly, watching him with a short smile on his mouth. Stan stood, looking up into curve of Mike's lips, dimpled cheeks, beautiful sweat-glistened skin.

He wiped the corners of his mouth, suddenly very shy. Mike pulled his chin towards him, and kissed his nose, then placed another smaller one on his lips.

"I am so in love with you that it's not even funny." Mike whispered. Stan leaned his head against his chest, stifling a breathy laugh into it.

"What?" Mike said.

Stan looked at the sky, the long finger-like branches of the birch blocking out most of the stars and part of the moon. How could this all be real?

"I am just stupid in love with you. So stupid that I have trouble believing I could get so lucky." He said, grinning.

They kissed again, a fire spreading across their skin, Mike taking his hand.

"I hope I can spend the rest of my life showing you how I'm the lucky one." Another soft, peppermint kiss. "And maybe, if you'll let me, I'll return the favor later tonight." Stan blushed, throwing a hand to his face. Mike laughed and peeked around the tree. Beverly and Richie were still there, Bev now laying flat out on the concrete patio. She was laughing so hard it sounded like she was choking.

Mike turned back to Stan and sighed. He placed a kiss on each knuckle of his left hand and then squeezed it.

"Until tonight," Stan said. "I love you."

"I love you." Mike replied, and he turned around the edge of the birch. Stan remained, leaning his back against the base of the tree. He heard Richie exclaim something when he saw Mike and waited to see if they would come over. They didn't, and a few moments later, the yard was filled with music again, and the three had gone inside.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief. His heartbeat had begun to slow, and all he could think was how much, just how goddamn much he loved Michael Hanlon.


	2. Ben Hanscom Takes a Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers have been living at 29 Neibolt Street for a few weeks now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments y'all! I decided to go ahead and finish posting the chapters I have finished so that when this next chapter is finished it can go up where it belongs.

The first few weeks fell into a semi-regular routine rather quickly, all of the Losers having found their niche inside the house. 

Eddie insisted on throwing together a shower schedule so that the hot water wouldn't run out for anyone at any point. Richie made a comment to Mike about how he was going to, "fuck the schedule hard, but tenderly," because he showered maybe once every three days at any and all hours of the day. Stan had awoken one night to get a glass of water and heard him singing/screaming, "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" at 3:45 in the morning. He wasn't off key, however.

Eddie showered in the mornings, around 6:30 am, then Stan around 7:45 am. Bill and Bev were afternoon people, usually around noon and 2:30 pm. Ben and Mike were avid nighttime bathers, taking short yet thorough showers that left the mirrors unfogged and the walls practically dry. Whenever Richie took the time to actually shower, he would let his long thick hair drip in torrents over the floor, and in the morning, Eddie would scream 'Stella'-esque, "RICHIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" as he nearly tumbled down on the slippery floor.

Stan and Mike thought it would be a nice idea if they all had breakfast or dinner together occasionally, but more often than not it was only dinner, what with Stan and Eddie usually being out of the house before 9 am, when Ben and Bill would be rousing. Beverly would usually sleep until 10:30 or 11, sometimes noon depending on how late she was out the night before.

She had got a job at a bar downtown, serving drinks to older rednecks and on Thursday nights, College Night, the bar would fill with a vast mixing of all of the twenty-somethings from Bangor and the surrounding areas.

Beverly was one of those types of beautiful that was almost ethereal, and she rolled in the tips because of it. But she also had her fair share of creeps, guys who would ask her what time she was off, did she have a boyfriend, was she looking for a good time. One night when Ben had dropped her off and come to pick her up around 2:30, a drunk co-ed tried to follow her to the bike, and when he grabbed her arm, Ben had taken a quick step forward, but Bev had it handled. She rounded on the guy, hitting him so hard with a southpaw punch that he fell flat on his back and lay there for a few minutes. "If a girl tells you no, you fucking stop." She spat, standing over him. She and Ben had sex fast and loud that night.

Richie had an interesting sleep schedule, in that he never seemed to actually sleep. He could often be heard listening to music or playing video games at all hours day and night, and then he would take classes Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. Yet he wouldn't stumble down for breakfast until nearly 11 am every day, looking hungover but without a headache. Most of the group pondered aloud if he was a vampire.

Dinners however, were definitely a family affair. Minus Thursdays, karaoke night at the bar, either Mike or Stan would cook, or they'd call for takeout. The second night they had all been there, after the housewarming party, Stan and Mike worked together to make up a three course meal, complete with a vegan chocolate and strawberry mousse. The strawberries had come picked special from Mike's family's farm, and apparently Stan was a master culinary artist and made the mousse from scratch. They had salads and pot roast, which Mike had let simmer in the crock pot for four hours along with some diced baby red potatoes, thyme, sage, a few cloves of garlic, and lemon juice. They also made up a vegan cheese quiche, since both Stan and Mike weren't huge fans of eating meat. It was probably the best meal any of them had had in years. Richie had wiped at his eye and said, "Goddamn this meal looks so good I could cry. It's like looking at Eds' mom's pus-" and Eddie had cut him off with a quick slap of the hand over his mouth.

Now it was just whatever they had time to make, or order. Chinese or pizza or Jimmy John's. Eddie had made goulash on one particularly rainy day and they had eaten the leftovers for five days after. Bev was a big fan of chili but she wanted to wait until football season started to show off her skills.

Most nights everyone was home at the same time and they even had a few days during the week where all of them were off, but that only happened once in a blue moon. Everyone had a job, Richie included, and helped contribute to the bills. Turns out electricity and water for seven people can get up there in price.

Richie worked several jobs, jumping to and from the individual places - a Pizza Hut, a Target, a WalMart, a gas station, and briefly, he would tell them, as a nude model at the Arts Center of Derry.

Stan got a job at the modest zoo not far outside of town, really an animal rescue for wild animals of the area but he still loved it. He got to work with the birds who were in rehabilitation, three in total as of right now - a barred owl (Strix varia), a mourning dove (Zenaida macroura), and a small orphaned glossy ibis (Plegadis falcinellis). He had named this particular one Icarus.

Ben was working with a construction crew as their assistant head architect; they were planning to build a new bank downtown and he had big plans for it. An entirely glass front with double paned windows, a ceiling twenty feet high with chandeliers, and perhaps even the vault on the lower level. It was his first real gig doing this sort of thing and he was so excited about it. When he landed the interview, he and Beverly planned his outfit for days, practicing what the interview might entail and revamped his resume until it glistened.

Bill was writing freelance for the Bangor Daily News. He had also picked up a job at the elementary School teaching summer classes as a substitute. The pay was modest but he brought in his share for bills. At $25 a story he knew he wouldn't be able to add much, but he usually still had extra after putting his share for rent and the like in the crumpled manilla envelope on top of the fridge.

Eddie got a job at the pharmacy, taking and giving out prescriptions to the Derry citizens concerned about their health. Once or twice a week, a young man with frantic looking eyes would come in to pick up an asthma prescription or a menagerie of pills. Eddie had, terrified and nearly in tears, told Bill and Mike that it was like looking back in time and he just wanted to reach out and grab the kid's hand, tell him he would be okay.

Mike got the job at the Derry Public Library, though he admitted he spent more time reading the books than putting them back on the shelf. He helped with the Kid's Corner, reading illustrated works to kids aged 2-5 every Tuesday and Thursday. Whenever he came home on these days, he would sweep Stanley up in his arms, away from the prying eyes of the others, and kiss him gently, whispering about he couldn't wait to have some of his own. Stan would blush and make a backhanded comment about a lack of uteri, but it didn't matter. His heart would swell.

On the first month anniversary of them all having lived there - Beverly wrote out the reminder in swooping letters on the calendar they posted on the front of the refrigerator - they decided to have a movie night and dinner to celebrate.

"Do we want to make a big fancy dinner?" Mike asked, rinsing a plate under scalding hot water and then handing it to Eddie, who was drying them as they went. Eddie sat the plate in the dish rack and turned, facing Bill and Beverly and Richie. Stan was on his way home from work and Ben was down at the bank, discussing security measures with the crew. Bill held a copy of the newspaper in front of him, a red felt-tipped pen in hand, circling errors as he found them. He drew a loop around a spelling error on an ad for the circus - featuring Pennywise the DancERing Clown - and capped the pen. He looked up and shrugged.

"Do we have time for it? I know I work in the morning on Friday." He said.

Mike wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it on the counter. "I'm off and so is Stan, so we can start cooking that afternoon if you want. What movies do we want to watch?"

Richie, who had been texting hurriedly, fingers seeming to barely touch the screen of his phone, spoke without looking up. He was wearing hole-ridden black gym shorts and a denim bomber jacket over his bare chest. Eddie thought if he was so damn cold why didn't he just put a shirt on? "Scary movies!"

"You always want to watch scary movies, Richie." Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. A little smile pulled at the corners of his mouth though.

Richie looked up now, tossing his phone on the table. The screen was shattered like a spiderweb, no doubt due to one of these haphazard tosses. "Scary movies are the BEST movies, Eds! You cuddle me when you get scared." He mocked pouted.

"I do not." Eddie replied. He had given up a long time ago on asking Richie to stop calling him these annoying pet names - Eds, Eddie Spaghetti - there was just no reasoning with him.

"What if we do a mix of things?" Beverly suggested through a mouthful of toast.

"Like, what?" Richie said, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his sharp nose lense-first. Eddie made a grumbling sound and stepped forward, taking them carefully off of his face. He wiped them on the hem of his shirt, holding them up to the light, then wiped them some more. He replaced them slowly back onto Richie's nose, who smirked. He pushed them back up, lense-first.

Eddie rolled his eyes and went to the counter, hopping up onto it.

"I dunno, some action thrown in there. A classic maybe." Beverly shrugged.

Richie scoffed, throwing his feet up on the table. Eddie took lead and pushed them off. They hit the floor with a thud. He put them back up, shaking his head. "Classic equals Breakfast Club, and we have enough of that shit erryday in this house."

Beverly looked at the ceiling briefly, sighing and chewing loudly at him. She adjusted her septum piercing and looked at Bill. "What do you think, B?"

Bill blew air out through his lips fast and hard, raising his eyebrows. "I would say this is more like 'Animal House' ninety percent of the time."

Mike chuckled, going to the fridge. "Richie can be Bluto."

Eddie flipped one of the mismatched chairs around, sitting with the back pressed against his chest. "He uses his mouth for talking more than eating."

"There are lots of other things I can do with my mouth, Edward." He winked.

Beverly was the one to say, "Beep beep," this time. She bumped him with her shoulder and he leaned into it.

"No but seriously! What the dick are we gonna watch though!" Richie laughed, waving a hand at Mike, who was eating a handful of grapes.

"I say one scary, follow up with something like 'Fast and Furious' - the new one just came out - and maybe we finish up with 'Princess Bride' or something."

Eddie perked up a bit and pointed at Mike, "Oooh yea I like that idea!"

Richie threw his head back cackling, black ribbons falling over his shoulders.

"If Eds wants to watch fucking 'Princess Bride' then goddammit we will watch 'Princess Bride'." He winked at Eddie, who put his hand over his cheek to hide the crimson that arose there.

"A scary one for sure?" Bill said, squinting at the paper and making a small checkmark next to the fine printed letters of the word "MediterranIan".

Richie looked at Eddie again. "I promise I'll hold your hand through the whole thing, Eds." Eddie put his head down and let out a long winded sigh.

So they had decided that Mike and Stan would make dinner, nothing terribly fancy but not just pizza. Richie insisted that 'Princess Bride' was on the list movie-wise, for Eddie of course, and they chose 'The Babadook' as their scary movie. Beverly was choosing the action portion of the evening, trailing her finger over the movie cases Ben had posted up on the bookshelf in their room. It took her two days to choose and she ended up going with 'Battle Royale', even though she knew Richie would complain that it involved reading because, "Tits, Bev, you know I can't read that fast!" to which she would reply, "Oh shit I thought you just couldn't fuckin' read, Rich." She knew it would essentially end with Eddie whispering the lines to him throughout the film. But that was fine, they would all enjoy it. And probably after a while Richie would stop listening and just watch the violence unfold on screen.

Friday arrived, after what felt like months. Bill and Eddie walked in the front door, Bill texting as Eddie blathered on about bills, shuffling through a handful of mail.

"No one ever sends letters anymore. That makes me sad." He said.

Bill murmured at him, not paying attention.

Eddie peeked out of the corner of his eye at Bill's phone, the name 'Audra' at the top of the screen. It made Eddie's heart pound excitedly and he smiled.

They could hear Mike and Stan talking to Ben in the kitchen, the smells of salted water and garlic bread filling the air.

The two of them came into the room and the others smiled at him. Stan clapped his hands together.

"Pasta!" He shouted, gesturing at the stovetop.

It was indeed pasta, three pots of boiling liquid simmering with what looked like spaghetti noodles, an alfredo sauce and a deep red sauce with fat chunks of garlic and tomatoes floating around inside. No doubt that would be for Mike and Stan.

"We were thinking of doing some chicken as well, but Stan didn't want to touch it." Mike chuckled, nudging the blond boy with his elbow. Stan shrugged.

"Gallus gallus domesticus." He said matter-of-factly, and smirked at Mike.

Eddie and Ben looked at each other, confused, but they always seemed to be doing this when Stan used Latin around them. Eddie joined him at the table, Bill still texting away on his phone. He snorted quietly and continued typing.

Ben nodded at Bill. "Who's he talking to?" He whispered.

"Audra," Eddie replied, raising his eyebrows at Mike and Stan. They all nodded in understanding and smiled. Bill was talking to a girl!

The front door slammed open, Richie and Beverly shouting at one another, the intake draft bringing in with it the stale scent of cigarette smoke.

They too came into the kitchen, Beverly's face flushed with laughter. Bill looked up briefly then back at his phone.

"Is it time for dinner?" Richie shouted, ruffling Eddie's parted hair. Eddie attempted to flatten it down again and fidgeted in his seat, pulling the hem of his plain white t-shirt down over the lip of his jeans.

"Fifteen minutes," Stan said, stirring the pot of tomato sauce aimlessly. "Enough time for you to change."

Richie looked down at himself. He was wearing cutoff jeans, sewn up with patches for 'The Misfits' and 'The Dead Kennedys', scribbled from top to end with the colorful phrase, "Give me head 'till you're dead". His sleeveless denim vest hung loosely around his shoulder, a black Converse shirt underneath.

"I look fucking good today, thank you very little, Stanley." He crossed his arms and tossed his hair out of his eyes with a flip of the head.

Stan raised his eyebrows, not looking at him. "I'm sure you and all the kids at Bible study think so, Trashmouth." Richie laughed.

"You're so fuckin' chuckalicious, man. Call me when it's ready. And you!" He said, jabbing Beverly in the chest softly as he moved towards the entryway. "We ain't fucking done, missy!"

She rolled her eyes. "Rich, give it up. Meg is ten times hotter than Jack. That's just science!" She moved to Ben at the table, sitting on his lap and giving him a quick peck on the mouth.

Richie was already halfway down the hall. "At the end of the day, I'd still put my cock in both of the-"

"Beep beep, Richie!" Mike, Eddie, and Stan shouted together.

Dinner was called twenty minutes later. The garlic bread had taken a little longer to bake than initially anticipated, Stan wringing his hands in front of the oven. While the other Losers set plates and glasses on the dining room table, Mike came up behind him and squeezed his arms, whispering, "Just bread, babe. Just bread."

They all sat down, Bill at the head of the table, Beverly on his left, then Ben then Mike, Stan, Eddie, and Richie. The early evening sun shuttered through the blinds, casting a dusty light over the table. Bill, who had finally put his phone away - though the other Losers could hear it buzzing excitedly in his back pocket - looked out over his best friends. It was crazy to him to think how they had all come together so many years ago, a ragtag group of kids who got picked on way too much in the hallways at school, who had a penchant for causing mischief down in the Barrens, seven kids who grew up to be this mismatched clique of young adults sitting before him.

"Thank you for cooking you guys," he said to Stan and Mike.

Mike was passing around the pot of noodles after putting a small helping on the plate in front of him. "It was the least of we could do."

Stan nodded, taking the pot next. "Thank YOU for finding this place. This has been one of the best months of my life."

Bill blushed. "It was a huge fluke, man. I can't believe you actually said yes." He looked at Ben and Beverly. They were holding hands looking at him.

"Shit a huge house with all my best friends? What could we possibly have said 'no' to?" Ben laughed. He was beaming at Bill, then to Richie next to him. Richie returned the smile, stifling back an inappropriate comment, Ben was sure.

Once dinner had been passed all around they sat waiting, and Stan said, "Should we pray?"

For a moment everyone was quiet and then the room filled with booming laughter.

"Yes pray to us in Hebrew!" Richie said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye.

Stan shook his head. "Sorry, can't remember a lick of it."

And they dug in.

The food was fantastic, even if it was just simple spaghetti. Ben and Mike helped themselves to seconds, Ben attempting a third but deciding against it. Halfway through, Richie suggested a food fight, but the looks he got from Eddie and Bill shot that idea down rather quickly. Eddie took it upon himself to start clearing the table even amongst the protests of Stan and Bill, Stan who was saying how HE had cooked the dinner he had to see the night through and Bill who said Eddie p-p-fuck-please sit the fuck down it doesn't need done right now. But he did so anyway, scraping the remains of sauces into the trash and rinsing the plates under the faucet. He wanted to wash them right then but Beverly, post-meal cigarette dangling between her fingers said, "If you try to wash those fucking dishes when we have movies to watch, I'll kick your ass." He left them sitting in the sink.

They waited for Richie and Beverly to smoke, a quick seven minute break, and Ben fiddled with the television, making sure all of the cords were hooked up to the right ports. Bill pulled the drapes over the window, blocking out the setting sun's rays and Mike flipped the lights, cutting the room into darkness. Eddie was setting up blankets and pillow into a nest on the floor to hide away behind in case 'The Babadook' got too scary. Stan was bringing in drinks, some beer for Bill, Ben, and Mike, Coke for himself and Eddie, and a bottle of wine he knew Beverly and Richie would pass between the two of them. He had these packed under his arm, a bowl of popcorn in his free hand. He set it on the small wobbly table on the left of the couch, and sat down next to Mike.

It was a huge couch, one that looked as if it had been part of a wrap-around at one point, tattered blue suede torn in some places. Mike smiled at Stan and they snuggled in next to each other, Ben on Stan's left. Bill took up a place in the armchair, phone in hand again, smiling quietly at the screen. Eddie nestled into the blankets as Richie and Bev came into the room. Bev sat next to Ben, picking up the bowl of popcorn and tossing her legs over the arm of the couch, leaning her back into the crook of Ben's arm. Richie flopped down next to Eddie, trying to lank an arm over his shoulders. He wriggled out from under him.

"Don't do anything stupid, Rich." He pointed playfully.

Richie put a hand to his chest. "I would never. As long as you promise to read to me during the subtitled shit."

Eddie pressed his back against the couch, posted inbetween Ben's legs. "You can read plenty fast, Rich. I saw you finish 'War and Peace' in four days." Richie laughed and Bev passed him the popcorn bowl.

"I was studying." He said in a sly whisper.

"For fucking what?" Eddie replied.

"We ready?" Bill said, standing and going to the tv, which was blaring a bright blue screen out at them. They all nodded in confirmation, and Bill grabbed up the remote, closing the Blu-ray player's mouth and starting the disk.

The first movie wasn't too scary, they decided after it was all over, but there were definitely parts that made the group of them jump.

Bill had put his phone away, tucking his legs up closer to his chest so he could hide his eyes behind them occasionally. The only part that made his chest seize up was the car crash scene, taking him back eleven years, his tiny brother ripped from his life. Eddie saw him panting, and reached out his hand, setting it gently in Bill's own. Bill smiled and squeezed it, letting it fall and setting his chin on his knees.

There were a few parts where Eddie, in his fear, buried his face in Richie's shoulder, peeking up timidly to access the situation. Richie let him do it, smiling to himself, snarking hushed tones of "You can hide your face in my lap," Eddie replying but smiling in Richie's shirt sleeve, "Beep beep, Trashmouth."

Bev would jump occasionally and then giggle uncontrollably, Ben pulling her closer into his chest. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and kissed her, staring at her in awe as she shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. She would occasionally take a sip of the wine - a sweet white - and pass it off to Richie, who would practically chug until she snatched it back again. Ben had seen the movie before and it didn't scare him as much as the first time, but the sound of the monster's voice creaking out of the speakers - "Babadook-doOK-DOOK" - still gave him goosebumps.

Mike sat quietly on the end of the couch, sipping occasionally from his beer. Stan had his legs pulled up crossed in front of him, tucking the blanket he had stolen from Eddie around his shoulders. He would occasionally say something like, "This makes no sense," or "Why doesn't she just move?" and at one point, "Burn the fucking book you idiot," and when she did he said, "See? Easy fix."

Mike's hand had found its way underneath the blanket and their fingers grazed one another's, Stan's twitching whenever something jumped on screen. Mike wanted so badly to grab it, lace his fingers around his boyfriend's, pull him into his lap like Beverly was in Ben's, kiss his curly hair and let him hide his face in the place where his collar met his throat. But he couldn't. Not yet, at least.

After it ended, Eddie pulled himself up away from Richie and coughed. "Well that was fucking scary."

Bev laughed, standing up and pulling her arms above her head in a stretch. "It wasn't awful. We've watched worse." She lightly slapped Richie's shoulder and he stood too.

"Eds you want scary I've got some homemade videos of me and your mom upstairs." Beverly punched him in the arm and they went outside, Eddie groaning and sliding down the front of the couch.

Mike stood, patting his legs. "Anyone need anything?" He said.

Bill looked at the two empty beer bottles on the side table. "Got any more beer?"

Mike looked at his own empty bottle and Ben's two as well. "I can grab some more. Eddie, you need anything?" Eddie shook his Coke can, empty now.

"I gotta pee before the next one, but I'll take a Tanq and tonic if we have any!" He bolted up, headed towards the hall where one of the bathrooms was.

Mike chuckled. "I'll figure something out."

Stan looked at him. "I'll help." Mike smiled coyly and nodded. They went to the kitchen and Ben got up to put the next disk in.

The second movie was fun, fast and different and loud. Eddie read most of the first scene to Richie before he said, "You know what, you can fucking read, I'm missing all the action." Richie pinched his cheek.

"Fuckin' cute!"

The movie went on without incident, the sun having completely set and darkness encased the house. As 'Battle Royale' came to a close, no one moved.

"Are we ready for 'Princess Bride', Eddie?" Bill asked, standing to change the disk. But he did not answer.

Bill looked at his friends. They had all passed out clean. He had wondered why it got so quiet - Bev and Richie usually talked a lot through action movies. Stan was the one who talked during paranormal films, pointing out the inconsistencies and obvious "electric issues" that could cause a haunting. Eddie was a romcom talker, saying how the girl was being stupid or how the guy should find a man, stuff like that. But they were all dead asleep.

Bill looked at the clock on his phone. It was a little after midnight. Audra had gone to bed around 9:30; she had to work early the next day. Beverly's legs were still folded over the arm of the couch, her chest rising and falling with sleep, laying over Ben's lap. Ben himself had his head propped up on his hand, eyes closed and fluttering, dreaming. Mike and Stan had fallen asleep with their heads leaning against one another, Stan sort of cuddled up to Mike. Richie and Eddie were the only ones who looked like they'd fallen asleep with a plan, Richie's head leaned against a pillow placed at the foot of the couch, his long legs spread out in front of him, uncovered. Eddie's head was on a pillow he had placed on Richie's chest and his leg was thrown over Rich's waist. They all looked so peaceful, silently in the throws of dreams. Bill just smiled at them.

He didn't feel tired just yet, so he put on 'Princess Bride' anyway. His eyes drooped as he carefully stole away a blanket and pillow from Eddie, who made a grumbling sound but did not wake up. He wrapped himself up in a cocoon and pressed play, falling quickly into sleep before even the first, "As you wish."

 

â€¢â€¢â€¢

 

Ben huffed out hard, wiping sweat from his eyes and taking a long swig from his bottle of water. The heavy July sun was beating down on everything, he and Mike included. They were working on the house, Mike leaning dangerously over the top of the portico, which sagged a little under his weight, and took an extra bottle of water from Ben.

The two had been up on the roof already today, a little past noon now, and had already replaced the missing shingles up there. It had cost a pretty penny to get all of the extra supplies but Ben had borrowed the tools needed from work. Ben, wiping away a stream of sweat from his brow, looked at Beverly. She was lounging out under the sun with Stan, her freckled porcelain skin shining alabaster. Ben looked at her, whispering to Stan about his book. The two looked content and Ben's heart still caught in his chest when he looked at her.

Things had changed so much over the past twelve years, but Bev was still as beautiful as day one. Ben thought of all the Losers he had changed the most. Granted he was still a poet, still a man who enjoyed math and geometry, still stupidly in love with Beverly Marsh.

He pulled his sweat-ridden grey shirt over his head, tossing it on the porch. His body was soft, lightening strikes of stretch marks cast across his stomach and pulling up through the top of his jeans. On the right side of his stomach was a thin scar of the letter 'H', crudely carved into his skin by one Henry Bowers. He had extra skin that fell in a small pouch near the top of his pants as well, but he didn't mind it. And no one else seemed to mind either. He looked good - shit - he felt good. His arms were swollen up from all the lifting he had done since sophomore year, his legs thick and toned as well from running track. His light brown hair was cropped up close to his head, making the heat a little more bearable. He wore a thin five o'clock shadow across his face.

"Do you think we'll have time for the turret this week too?" Mike asked and they looked at it.

Ben shrugged. The siding would take time, what with the slats being rounded. "Depends on our work schedules I suppose. And what plans the other guys have. We don't want to wake Richie up at 7 in the morning again with our hammering."

Mike laughed, taking another drink of water. "He's at the back of the house, he'll survive."

Ben nodded. He tossed a glance back to Bev and Stan. They had their heads pressed in close together as if they were sharing some daring secret. He didn't feel jealous. Shit, Richie actually straight up hit on Bev and he never felt anything but humor towards the situation. He knew Bev could handle herself and that his best friends wouldn't actually try to pull anything. It was easy being in love with her, simple.

When they were kids, he always worried that she didn't love him like he loved her. He had always noticed how she and Bill doted on one another. When she moved away after his thirteenth summer, all he could think is that he would never see her again, that he had built his love up for the beautiful fire-haired girl only to lose her as a friend. But she had come back the following summer, taller and more vibrant than ever. She had kissed him that summer, after he told her how he felt. She had interrupted him halfway through saying, "Ben I've known. I've known for a while. But have you known that I love you too?" Then the kiss. Soft and subtle, it had filled his chest with radiating lightening, and from then on they were an item, even as so unofficially. She left at the end of that season, starting her freshman year up in Portland. He had stayed, fourteen, nearly fifteen, and starting to get restless in his legs. He grew slowly, still chubby, but growing into his face a little more.

In the spring semester of his freshman year he was getting roughed up particularly badly by a bunch of seniors and Mike hadn't been around to help that time. The track coach had broken up the fight, but made a snide comment when it was just them about how he brought it on himself. That was the first time Ben Hanscom had ever really seen red. Rage surged through every inch of him. The coach was walking away and Ben took a step forward, grabbing him by the arm and twirling him around.

Finger pointed like a dagger, Ben promised him - he couldn't even be bothered to remember the man's name now - that he would show him. The following spring, he would be out on the track, beating his best. The coach had laughed in his face and that seemed all it had taken to snap Ben into gear.

He started lifting, running, doing squats, barbells, lunges - anything and everything that could give him the strength to outdo the best. He started slow, granted, but by the end of that first summer's training he could nearly outrun Silver as Bill pedaled as fast as he could, and by winter, he had jumped a whole foot, his long legs out-sprinting Mike as he practiced for football.

That next spring, he showed up on the field at the first track meet of the season. The coach had seen him standing behind the runners, pulling his leg up behind in him a stretch. It had probably taken him a moment to recognize Ben, what having grown a full foot and packing muscle under his shirt instead of baby fat. When the starter gun went off, Ben waited a few seconds to let the other runners get a few yards out, and then he took off in a dead sprint. The coach, standing at the finish line, watched him with a furious curiosity, as he pulled up in front of the fourth place, third place, second place runner, until he was fifty yards in front of the first runner. As Ben passed him, he took a quick moment to pull his left hand up into a middle finger, dragging it past the coach's flabbergasted face as he crossed the tape.

After the others had crossed the finish line, Ben waltzed up to the coach, a ringing in his ears and the hoots and hollers of Mike, Stan, Bill, Richie, and Eddie in the bleachers cheering him on.

"What the fuck did you just do, boy?" The coach asked, his face a dark blood-beet color. Ben, panting, pointed at the actual track kids, who were staring at him, hands on their knees.

"I just beat your best," he said. "That's what the fuck I just did." He laughed in his face, much like the old man had done not a year ago to him.

That was when he was taken in the jaw by a swift sucker punch, nearly laying him out on the AstroTurf.

Police had been called, a report was taken, but Ben didn't press any charges. It wasn't worth it, he had said to Richie and Bill, sporting the split and swollen lip with proud indignation, but the coach was still fired anyhow.

And at the end of that year, sixteen years old now, Beverly had come back to Derry. The boys had been waiting at the quarry, early June sunlight peeking out through the clouds when they'd heard her pull up in her jeep. They all turned and looked, watching as she slammed the car door and jogged towards them, a sheer white swimming suit cover billowing over her bikini. Ben had stood first, then the others, Ben dusting the dirt off his trunks. His heart had been pounding so hard, nervous to see what she'd think for some reason.

She pulled up to the group, a smile wide on her face, a stud in the right nostril of her nose. She stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes fell on him, a bright rose color taking to her cheeks. His face reciprocated the action and he looked away, embarrassed.

"Ben?" She said, her voice almost womanly. She put a hand to her mouth, a smile glowing behind it. He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. She was looking at him up and down, naked except for his swimsuit. The other boys just stood looking between Ben and Bev, just waiting.

Bev broke the silence with a high-pitched scream, throwing her hands into her hair and laughing.

"Oh my fucking god what did you do!" She ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling her legs up around his waist. She was lighter to him now, his strong arms tucking up under her butt. The other Losers were watching, smiling. When he set her down, she couldn't stop looking at his eyes, her's an endless ocean, his a swimming galaxy. They had stared, in stunned silence, at one another, until Mike suggested they go swimming. They had, but Ben and Bev could not take their eyes off one another.

Later that evening, when they were all heading home - Richie and Stan packed up in Richie's truck, Eddie, Bill, and Mike walking, and Ben riding along with Beverly - his mind was whirling. He couldn't stop thinking about the way she screamed, how excited she was. He thought about the previous summer, how she hadn't been that excited, and for some reason the thought made him sad. Would she love him more because he was thin? Did she ever actually love him, really? Or was she taking pity on the awkward fat boy?

He sat with his hands in his lap as she drove, the radio playing something he didn't recognize. He felt her looking at him occasionally but he was afraid to make eye contact with her. He had just stared out the window as they came up on his house, his mother sitting in the living room with the blinds open.

"Ben, what's going on?" She asked as she threw the vehicle into park. He sat up, as if he had just awoken from a nap and looked in her direction. His stomach ached, fear bubbling in it.

He shook his head, looking anywhere but at her directly. "Nothing, just a long day."

Beverly pursed her lips at him, cocking her head. "That's bullshit and you know it. What happened? Something happened between me getting to the quarry and now."

He sighed, wiping his hands down his legs. "Bev," he paused. He leaned his head against the passenger side window briefly, then pulled up again, gathering the courage to look her in the eye. Her eyebrows were knotted down in frustration at him and he felt a pang of guilt.

"You know I love you right?" He said, barely above a whisper.

She made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Yes. And I love you."

Ben shook his head slightly. "No like I'm in love with you. Stupidly so."

She blew air out her mouth, a short laugh. "Yes, I know."

He looked at his fingers. They looked huge to him all of a sudden, too big for his hands. He felt like he should go for a run.

"I have loved you for three years, Ben." Her voice caught him off guard, and he looked up at her, swallowing the knot in his Adam's apple.

She was smiling softly at the steering wheel, running her finger over the faux tiger fur she had put there. She and Eddie had spent nearly 45 minutes trying to figure it out as the others had watched from the lawn of Stan's house, laughing as Eddie tried to just slip it on, but it kept falling off. Mike had got it to stay, and the two of them had been so mad at how simple it was.

"And I don't mean love like I love Stan or Rich or Eddie or Mike or even Bill. I'm in love with you too." She looked at him. Her eyes were soft.

He shifted in the seat, the seatbelt snugging around his shoulder. "Do you love me more because I'm not fat now?" His voice was even quieter this time.

She turned fully in her seat, pulling a leg up. "Did you not hear what I just said?" There was no malice in her voice, just slight impatience.

He looked out the windshield, searching for something to say. How could he explain this fear? That he was only important and wanted because he was thin? How do you explain that to someone who has always been thin and beautiful?

"I just don't want you to like me more now that I'm not fat." He turned again, and her hands squeezed the sides of his face. He was forced to look into her eyes.

She searched his own. "There's nothing wrong with being fat. I loved you then and I love you now." She sighed. "Now kiss me, goddammit." So he did, weaving his hand into her hair.

The kisses became heated, panting and pulling, the windows of the jeep becoming filmed with fog. Beverly's hand was on his thigh and his was on her chest. She pulled away, eyes half-closed, lips swollen and pink.

"Let's go somewhere." She said, and he nodded. They had driven an hour outside of town, and laid out under the stars, holding hands and talking about every single thing they could think of until they had fallen asleep, the two of them curled up with their noses touching, arms wrapped around one another.

Ben had decided the next morning, waking up next to her, dew gathering on the grass, that he was going to marry her.

"Stan!" Mike called down, and Stan looked up, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Do you know when Richie works this week?" He asked.

Stan looked at Bev, and they whispered for a second.

"He just got a job at the radio station I guess, so maybe he's off Tuesday? He works the ten to four shift."

"So he'll sleep during till like 2?" Ben said, not really to anyone but himself.

Stan shrugged. "Probably."

Ben looked at Mike with a wicked grin. "Then I guess we'll work on the turret that day."

Mike choked a little, laughing.

Ben looked at Bev and Stan, who were shaking their heads.

 

â€¢â€¢â€¢

 

They lay in bed that night, trying to catch their breath and pressing their sticky skin as closely together as possible. The window above the bed was open, letting in some desperately needed fresh air. Ben had his arm wrapped around Beverly, who had her arm tucked up around his neck. He kissed her gently on the head, inhaling fully and sighing.

He hadn't planned on them making love, but Beverly had a tendency of making plans for them this way.

They'd been in the kitchen, standing at the island, Bev eating a slice of cold pizza and Ben looking over a mock up for an addition to the library. He had picked this up after the library project supervisor had seen his additions to the bank. Eddie and Stan were going over a budget, a calculator pulled out in front of them. Richie and Bill were out buying groceries and Mike was out at his parents, helping fix their tractor.

Ben hadn't been looking directly at her, but he could see her pacing in front of him. He peeked over the blueprints and there she was, just looking at him, her eyes narrowed. She had a tiny grin on her lips, an eyebrow raised at him.

She spoke in a hushed voice at him, leaning her elbow on the island. "You looked good working on the house babes." He smiled and cocked his head, looking over at Stan and Eddie. They were wrapped up in their numbers and calculations.

"Did I?" He said, looking back at her. She nodded.

He smirked. "You looked good just laying around, baby girl."

She tossed her piece of pizza on its plate and chewed slowly. "Wanna make out?" She asked.

He laughed and began rolling up the blueprint. "Um, yes." He stood abruptly and turned to go upstairs, Beverly not too far behind him.

"We'll be back later guys." Ben said, taking Beverly's hand.

"Ok, have fun." Stan said, looking over the tiny reading glasses he wore at the paperwork.

"Try to keep the screaming to a minimum." said Eddie, leaning over the edge of his chair. Stan laughed.

They had got upstairs, their clothes barely making the entrance, and then they were on one another. It was fast and dirty, something just to be able to touch each other.

And now they lay next to one another, soaking in the smell of each other's sweat and the summer rain on its way.

Ben was staring dead ahead at the popcorned ceiling, his eyes wide. He couldn't slow his heart. He was nervous again.

"I love you Beverly." He said, his voice wavering a little.

Her chin pulled up on his chest, looking at him. She smiled meekly and cuddled her face into him again, breathing him in deeply. "I love you too baby."

He sighed again, trying to choose his next set of words. He gulped, his free hand tracing the 'H' on his abdomen. He did that sometimes when he was thinking, or scared, the motion taking him back to the Bowers gang, to real, tangible fear.

He could feel his fingers shaking against his skin. He couldn't concentrate on any one thing, ten hundred things swirling around his mind. The only thing he could do was go for it.

"Bev."

"Ben." She said in the same tone.

"Bev, I want to get married."

The room swelled with a palpable silence, and Beverly froze against him.

He couldn't seem to catch his breath, suddenly wishing Eddie had a spare inhaler hidden away somewhere in the house. He couldn't look at her either, he was terrified waiting for her to speak. But she hadn't made any sound, so he started to wonder if she had even heard him.

"Bev?" He said quietly, turning his chin down to her.

She wasn't looking at him, instead her gaze was planted on the door to the bathroom, her eyes glazed over with a far away look. Her eyebrows were pulled down, almost angry...or like she wanted to cry.

"Hey," he said, sitting up a little bit, putting a hand on her cheek. She jerked back from the sudden movement, and he recoiled his hand, guilt coming over him in a wave.

She sat up fully, pulling the comforter with her. He sat up against the headboard. He wanted to reach out and place his palm against the flat of her back, but he was worried she would pull away again.

"Bev, baby, what's wrong?" He said.

She turned her head towards him but didn't speak. Her hair was slicked against her forehead with sweat, the liner bleeding a little under her eyes. She didn't look directly at him, either.

"Baby, talk to me." His knees folded against his chest and he wrapped his arms around them, curling his toes underneath his cold feet. He couldn't stop staring at the back of her head.

January embers.

She breathed hard. Pulling the blanket up over her left shoulder. Ben scooched up closer to her, leaning his crossed knees against where her back met the curve of her hips, and he caressed her bare shoulder. She looked over it at him.

"Bev -"

"No."

He paused, his breath hooking around his tonsils.

"What?"

She twisted fully so she was facing him, the blue comforter falling softly over her breasts. She stared at her fingers, screwing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet.

Her eyes turned up to him. "I said no." Her voice was small, almost drowned out completely by a deep roll of thunder in the distance.

For some reason, Ben couldn't wrap his mind around the words.

No. She had said no.

"Okay." He replied, his mind not really working with his voice. The response echoed around the room, a huge catacomb, the air suddenly stale and dry.

"I'm sorry." She said. She made a move to get up, and he was motivated to grab her arm, to stop her. But he didn't. He let her get up. Pull a shirt over herself, pull panties and a pair of sweatpants on. He couldn't stop staring at a spot on the messed comforter. It looked like old blood, but he couldn't be sure.

After she finished cinching up the pants, she ran a hand through her hair and twirled on her heel, glaring hard at him. He was looking at her face but couldn't see any her features. He realized it was because his eyes were blurring with tears.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" She said, her voice louder than it had been previously. It shook him a little bit, and he absentmindedly rubbed the thin white scar again.

"Why not, Beverly?" His voice cracked.

She exhaled loudly, and went to the window that faced the east and yanked it open. She sat on the sill, taking a pack of Camels off the dresser and grabbed one, lighting the tip, she took a long drag and began pacing.

"I just... you just... I can't..." She took another drag.

She paused to make eye contact then went back to it, creating a small pathway of ruffled fibers in the rug. "Marriage, Ben? Are you serious?"

He couldn't put the question into terms. Why was that so ridiculous? They'd been together nearly seven years. They loved each other, were in love with each other. Marriage? Out of the question?

"Absolutely." Ben replied.

Beverly laughed, a sickening sound, unnatural coming from her.

"Ben we cannot get fucking married." She pulled the cigarette to her lip again and inhaled, the thick fumes curling around her head and into the air. He usually didn't mind the smell, he could even say he liked the taste when it came from her mouth. But right now it was just giving him a headache.

"Why not?" He asked. His voice was unwavering now, like a church mouse.

"Ben," she scoffed, incredulously, "We're 23! We're fucking kids! We haven't - " she pulled at her own hair, searching, grasping, begging the word to come to her, any fucking word. "We haven't done anything! Jesus. Marriage. You know who else was married?"

It clicked for him then. Of course. "Your parents?" He finally caught her eye. She stopped pacing, mouth agape, staring at him. The air was tense, heavy and thick, tension sliceable with a knife, a sharp serrated blade.

"What did you say?" Her face was twisted up in anger and melancholy.

He stood, stark naked as he walked to the dresser and grabbed a pair of shorts. "You heard me." He didn't mean to sound cruel, his voice did that all on its own.

"My parents have nothing to do with this -"

"That's a lie, Beverly. I'm sorry, but it is." He wasn't even angry. The voice coming from his mouth wasn't angry, it was something entirely different but animalistic nonetheless. It was pain.

Her cigarette was practically all ash now, her having let it burn down with her constant puffing on it. She was shaking, her tiny ring-covered hands clenched into fists. The girl he loved. Small, but fierce.

He was beginning to wonder, in an aching feeling that gnawed at the back of his skull, if she really did love him. He felt every inch of his stretch marks now, sure that they blazed in the dim lighting of their bedroom, THEIR bedroom, the one they had made their own with the stupid drapes and rug and the stark black and white photos of all of them - the Losers - framed up on the wall. It was theirs.

He just needed the clarification. He understood, even if she didn't think he did. Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself.

Sometimes she knew him better than himself, but he was the same for her.

Her daddy was a rabid man, not much of a drinker, but damn if he couldn't pack a punch. Her mom wanted so desperately to escape - he hit them both of course - but where could they go? How could they survive? He held the bank accounts, he had the car title. Everything was his.

Ben knew about all this. Beverly had told him every piece of this, he and she both sobbing. Her daddy, she came to realize when she was older - "Thank Christ", she had said, taking a drag off of her fifth chain smoke - that he had much more sinister plots in mind. But she had escaped to her aunt's in Portland with her mom before anything could go that far. Her mom had cried for weeks about how sorry she was, how she should have protected them better. But Beverly didn't blame her mom. She blamed her daddy, the bastard.

She was afraid, Ben thought, that they would get married, have children, and then maybe...he would start hitting her. The thought made his stomach burn, and he fought the urge to start bawling. He wanted to keep his head clear so he didn't fuck this up.

"I don't need your fucking protection, Benjamin." She snapped at him, flicking her cigarette out the window. Rain had started coming down a bit now, thunder rolling occasionally.

He shook his head slowly. "I never said you did. I never wanted to protect you, or fix you, or any of that. You know that."

"If you're under the impression I think you'd become my dad-"

"That's exactly what I think, Bev." He had tucked his hands behind his head. His chest hurt. Everything was stacking together in a tightness that crowded his lungs. He wanted to reach out and hold her - she trembled madly all over now - but he was afraid she'd pull away.

She just stared, her eyes hollow points in her face, and she didn't speak.

"I'm not trying to fight," Ben said. "If you don't want to get married then fine." He paused, the tears threatening the lashline now.

"But if that's the case, then I need to think about some things." He tried not to watch as her face fell, disappointed and frightened.

"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" She asked, her voice practically a squeak emitted from a closing door hinge.

He shook his head, going to the bed. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket. Every step he took felt like he had added back on fifteen pounds until it was almost too much to lift his feet. He caught her blues, she was biting the corner of her mouth to keep herself from crying.

"I don't think I could if I wanted to, and I don't want to. But my offer stands. So I'm going to give you some time. To think about what you want, what I want...what we can do." He crossed the room to her and tried to bring her lips to his, but she didn't reciprocate. He kissed her gently on the forehead instead.

He went to the bedroom door, his hand tentatively on the knob, turned partially in his hand. The blanket tried to tumble out from underneath his arm and he shifted his grip on it.

"I love you Ben." She said, her voice breaking.

He looked at her, the door ajar now. He knew he didn't have to go but it had to work for the night. "I love you too, Beverly. Take your time."

He went out in the hallway, ignoring the fact that he could hear someone on the other side of Richie's door, many someones, and down the stairs, to sleep away from the love of his life because of a fight for the first time in seven years.


	3. Bill Denbrough Takes a Timeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill meets a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda smutty, so, yeah.

Grey storm clouds perched above the house, their heavy ruffles threatening a sweet, sticky rain. The humidity was through the roof, the windows slick with condensation.

The house at 29 Neibolt was abnormally quiet on this July afternoon, the Losers cast to opposite corners of the building. Ben had already left for work, the tension between he and Beverly still untouchable. It had been two weeks and Ben was still sleeping on the couch, his blanket a wadded up fleece ball on the arm. Beverly didn't seem to be sleeping. Mike and Richie discussed they heard her pacing in the middle of the night, the sound of the eastward window sliding open coming at twenty minute intervals. Bill tried to talk to Ben, his hand on his shoulder, talking low like one would to a distraught child, but Ben wouldn't, couldn't say much. The fact that he and Beverly were fighting made his chest hurt.

Richie had done the same with Beverly, coming into the master bedroom with a bottle of whiskey, his hands clasped politely at his waist. Beverly had been sitting at the window, smoke perfuming the room. She looked at him sadly, then the bottle of Jack, and shook her head. Neither of them would talk.

But the others knew what had happened for the most part. They had all been piled into Richie's room, Eddie pressing his ear to the paper-thin walls, relaying the conversation that was taking place back to them.

"They aren't yelling?" He said, his voice raising at the end in confusion, looking at Mike.

"But they _are_ fighting?" Mike asked. Stan and Bill were standing next to one another, arms folded carefully over their chests. Mike's face had fallen, deep creases bridging the gap between his eyes.

Eddie shrugged. "Beverly sounds upset, that's for sure." He looked at Richie sitting on his bed. He looked concerned, rubbing his eyes over his contacts. It looked like he was touching their brown irises and Eddie shivered.

"What could they be fighting about? We saw them an hour ago." Stan whispered.

Richie, ever trying to lighten the mood, said, "Maybe he tried to put it somewhere she didn't like."

Bill and Stan turned to glare at him. "You're a fucking asshole, Richie." Bill said, shaking his head.

Richie didn't reply, just looked at his hands, tearing at his ragged fingernails.

They stood there in quiet reverie until they heard the door to the master open and they rushed the door, waiting to see if they could hear anything else. Outside Richie's, Ben carried a blanket and pillow downstairs, not saying a word.

"Something to do with marriage," Eddie said as his footsteps receded down the long hallway.

Bill brow furrowed. "Why would they be fighting about that?" There was a group-wide shrug and they had all gone back to their rooms, the overhanging fear of disruption of their family looming.

Now Beverly was posted up in her, well their, room, folding laundry. Richie was listening to music in his bedroom, _Lua_ by Bright Eyes sifting under the doorway. Bill was lounging in the armchair, grading some papers from his summer school class. Stan and Mike were napping in Mike's room, Stan curled up gently into Mike's right side, breathing softly. Eddie was scribbling furiously in the red notebook on his desk, writing out his mind's wanderings.

Beverly put down a shirt she had folded in its respective pile, Ben's t-shirts. She stared at them with watery eyes, and adjusted her septum piercing. It was bothering her more than normal today, and she wished she could just take it out, but the cartilage had healed up around the hoop in the center. She would have to rip it out at this point.

She sighed, a soft drizzle beginning to fall outside. The lights were all off in the room, except for a hazy yellow lamp they had placed next to the bed and the flickering flame of a vanilla scented candle. The house was too quiet, she thought, perhaps everyone else had left. To go to work, to go for a walk, to the Barrens or the library maybe. She left the clothes on the made-up bed, and went to the door, slowly inching it open. The hall was quiet as well, except for music coming out of Richie's room.

She slipped into the hall, turning the knob to close it without having it click, and knocked three times in rapid succession against Richie's door.

"Come in," he said, his voice muffled.

She entered the room, a dark mess of, well, Richie. Clothes were scattered across the floor, she couldn't honestly be sure if they were clean or dirty, the closet door thrown open, empty hangers filling the inside. There was a small tv stand with a 20 inch television sat on top of it, a YouTube playlist pulled up on its screen. Right now it was playing _The Same Deep Water as You_ by The Cure. An ancient plush armchair sat next to it, an acoustic guitar resting against the base, propped up with a stack of flimsy paperbacks.

Richie was no where to be seen, except the lump of comforter bunch on the bed. He was completely hidden lack for a small tuft of curly black hair poking out at the foot of the bed. Beverly went to him and sat gingerly.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He peeked his head out, tucking the blanket up under his chin and propping himself up on his elbow. "Hey." He replied.

His eyes, deep brown caps of drooping sunflower heads, looked sad, and it made her heart ache. His glasses lay folded awkwardly on the floor.

They sat staring at one another for a moment, _the shallow drowned lose less than we, you breathe the strangest twist upon your lips_ , settling over them.

Beverly broke the silence. "Ben asked me to marry him."

Richie sat up fully and placed a hand on hers. He studied her eyes for a minute. "And you said no."

Her breath choked in her throat, a knot the size of a fist growing there, and her eyes burned. She didn't want to cry, but the tears came anyhow. They slipped down her sunspotted cheeks, and when she closed her deepened lids, more torrented out. Richie wrapped himself around her, enveloping her into his bare chest. She put a hand on his shoulder, grasping at nothing and sobbed into his skin. He stroked her hair like only someone who had seen you through the worst could do, gentle and caring.

As kids, they were each other's go-to when shit hit the fan. Whether it be Bev's father hitting her so hard she threw up from the radiating pain, or Richie's drunk mother telling him how she should have had an abortion, they could often be found tapping on one another's windows at 2 am, crawling under the covers until their feet were warm from the closeness. Richie was the first person Beverly told when she lost her virginity to Ben, Richie throwing his hands up for a high five and saying, "Fucking Christ one of us finally got laid!" and Bev was the first one Richie came to when he realized he was bisexual, but not the, "only two bisexual," the "everyone bisexual". They were each other's ride or die, going to concerts together, taking punches for one another, smoking in the Barrens when the rest of the Losers were busy with their own lives. They were all close, true, but no one, not even Ben, was as close to Beverly as Richie.

She pulled away, sniffling and wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Rich brushed a bang off her forehead with his left hand, a stark black tattoo on his wrist. She took his hand gently and looked at it.

It was the words _beep beep_ in small type font. The ink was fresh, still ridged as she touched the pads of her fingertips against it.

"When'd you get this?" She asked him, sniffing hard.

He twisted the arm in her hand, examining the tattoo. "Last week. Thought it might teach me to shut the fuck up once in a while." He laughed. "I was going to ask you to go get another with me, but you seemed too down. I didn't want to push you." He looked up at her.

She chuckled, letting his hand drop. "Four matching tattoos? That could have been excessive."

They were each littered with permanent ink, a Star Wars half sleeve started on Richie's right arm and an extensive art piece of a watercolor water pitcher, pouring out over a gathering of mountains - for Aquarius, Richie knew - on Bev's left leg. Richie also had Eddie's name scrawled over heart, which was a joke, "I swear to god it's a fucking joke, relax, Eds," but "it's fucking permanent you dumb shit!", the cover art from Cage the Elephant's single _Cold Cold Cold_ and a snake on his right forearm. He told people it was so he always had a reference of his dick size, but the Losers knew it was because he had been sorted into Slytherin on Pottermore.

Their matching tattoos were a small arrow on the back of their necks, pointing towards the sky, a collaborating emoji tattoo on their ankles, - Richie had the eggplant and Bev had the peach - and the final matching tattoo was one all of the Losers had. They had all piled into Bev's jeep, Ben in the passenger seat, Stan, Bill, and Mike in the seats directly behind them, with Richie and Eddie smashed tangled up in the very back. The tattoo artist, a short ginger man with a nose piercing and a beanie had stared them up and down and asked what they wanted. Bill had pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the counter to him. It was the word 'loser', 's' scratched over with a stark red 'v', making it say 'lover'. Eddie had come up with the addition of the 'v'. They had all got it the exact same size in different places in their bodies. Eddie had placed his above his heart, Stan on the inside of his left wrist, Bill across his left bicep, Ben on the back of his right ankle, Mike on the soft skin of his right forearm, and Beverly and Richie had got theirs on the ring fingers of their right hands.

"Naw," Richie said, leaning up to cross his legs in front of him. "Just thought a little pain might make you feel better."

Beverly chuckled. She rubbed her finger against the new tattoo again.

She sighed. "I don't know what to do, Rich."

He huffed and untangled himself from the blankets, going to the desk. He picked up a pack of cigarettes and shook it at her. "Smoke break?" She nodded.

They stood under the awning of the porch, crushing the cigarettes between their index and middle fingers. Richie had thrown on a denim jacket and they stood close together.

Richie looked out at the rain covered street. "Do you love him?" He asked.

She stared off at a spot on the dead end sign at the end of the road. After a moment she replied, "Of course I do."

Richie looked at her, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Do you want to marry him?"

It took her longer to reply this time. She did. Even if there was something inside of her that said she couldn't, shouldn't marry him. It was the fear...the fear more than anything. Ben was right, she worried about the past repeating itself. She had spoken to her mom about it one afternoon. Her daddy hadn't started hitting her until after they had been married - a modest ceremony with all of twenty-sen people there. He stopped while she was pregnant and then started back up again after Beverly was born. By then he'd completely taken control of all the money, even yet mother's paychecks went into his bank account.

Beverly, even if she couldn't admit it to herself or anyone else, worried that this relationship was too good to be true. That of course Ben would start beating her. Her daddy hit her and her mom. And he had apparently seemed so nice before - her daddy.

But she couldn't stop push the ultimate feeling that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Ben, that she wanted to be able to keep him. But she knew one didn't have to be married to their partner to spend their whole lives together. But she thought that for Ben, it was the symbolism behind it. To have people know that you were one entity because of rings you wore on your left hands. To share the same last name. Joint taxes, health insurance, all of that shit. Beverly understood the sentiment but...she didn't know.

"I mean that's what you're supposed to do, right?" She laughed, taking a drag off her cigarette. "Settle down, buy a house, pop out 2.5 kids, and die in Florida?"

The corner of Richie's lip pulled up in a smirk. "You've never been one for traditionalism."

She nodded. "But it's what he wants...and I," she paused. "I want him."

Another pause. "I love him. More than I should."

Richie shuffled his feet and grimaced at her. "You've been together for seven years, Bev. You love him the perfect amount."

She shrugged to herself and tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. "Do you think I should get married, Rich?"

Richie stretched his arms over his head and stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray Stan insisted they put out and then empty once a week. "You shouldn't do anything you don't want to. Ben would understand. He knows you Bev." Richie linked his arm through hers, and she leaned her head against his arm.

"I don't know what to do."

He put his chin on the top of her head. "I can only give you so much advice babes. You need to talk to him about this."

She sighed and too put out her cigarette. Even if it was to tell him her final no, or not yet, or yes, Richie was right. This was something she needed to figure out and discuss with Ben.

She missed him.

 

Mike awoke, the sky still dark with rain, Stan out cold in his side. He looked at his watch, a little past 4:30. He had slept most of the day away, curled up contentedly next to his boyfriend. He watched his face for a moment, a curl having fallen down onto the bridge of his nose. Mike brushed his finger gently over the soft skin of Stan's cheek and kissed him on the nose. Stan stirred momentarily, a sleepy smile growing on his lips, but he remained fast asleep. Mike carefully pulled his arm out from under him and rambled out of bed to stand at the window and watch the rain for a moment. His father would no doubt be rounding up the horses and sheep, throwing tarps over the hay so that it didn't mold. His mother was probably in the kitchen, baking bread or washing strawberries, some daytime soap on the small television they kept next to the microwave.

For a moment, he was struck with the wonderment if he called them and told them he was bringing Stan to dinner, but not as the smartly dressed friend he brought around occasionally for holidays or birthday celebrations with the other Losers, just him, as his boyfriend. His parents, while never being by any means homophobic, had never really given any indication of their feelings on the matter. He didn't think he had given them any reason to think he himself was gay, and they had said many times whilst growing up they loved him no matter what, but he just wasn't sure.

That was something he would also have to talk to Stan about. Mike himself knew he wanted to shout it to the world that he was in love with this man - Stanley Isaac Uris STANLEY ISAAC URIS GODDAMMIT I AM IN LOVE WITH STANLEY ISAAC URIS - and sweep him up into his arms and kiss him, once, twice, fifty times!, until Stan was begging him to be let down and blushing like fire had taken root in his cheekbones. But he knew that Stan was shy, and perhaps even afraid, of what could happen. He knew even if being out was more widely accepted these days, it was not the "norm". Whatever that truly meant. And Mike wanted to keep Stan safe and happy. So Mike would wait. He would kiss him quietly in darkened corners of rooms, hold his hand under the armrest at the movies, make love to him when the house was empty. He would keep their secret as long as Stan wanted. Because he wanted Stan.

From the hallway came the dense sound of footsteps, Ben's, he could tell, and the door to he and Beverly's room opened. There was some whispering, but the walls in the house were so thin that Mike could hear everything plain as day.

"Hey," Beverly said to Ben.

"Hey," he replied. His voice sounded tired, sad even. "How are you?"

She probably shook her head here, there was no immediate aloud response. Then she said, "How are you?"

He responded the same, no words.

"Do you want to talk?" Beverly asked. Mike inched to the door, picking his feet up and setting them down carefully on the floor so as not to hit any of the squeaky boards. He went to the wall that connected to Ben and Beverly's, pressing his hands and ear flat to the old baby blue paint.

He heard the door to their room click closed.

"Where is everyone?" Ben asked, his voice a little louder now that they were behind closed doors.

"I think everyone is napping. Eddie went to work and I think Bill ran some errands." Bev replied. Mike looked to Stan, still breathing softly in his bed.

"Oh," Ben sighed, and there was a chilled moment of silence. "So, um, what's up?" The words were informal, Ben was nervous.

"I just uh..." Beverly's voice trembled. "I wanted to talk to you. About the uh... the marriage thing." Mike strained to her voice lowered at the end.

Ben inhaled sharply. "Yeah, absolutely."

There was the sound of the springs in the bed creaking, Beverly had sat down on it.

There were a few more moments of silence. Mike could hear Stan's watch ticking from across the room, the rain failing to drown out its cadence.

Ben spoke finally. "Babe, I never..." A pause. "I never wanted you to think this was the only option. I love you. So fucking much and I just want you to be happy."

He heard her sniffle. "I know," she said quietly.

"And if that means that we don't get married now, or ever...as long as you're with me, I don't care what happens. I don't." He was walking towards her. "Marriage or not we are partners. And I know that shit with your dad -"

"Ben," she said quickly.

"No, please," he replied. "I know that shit with your dad was rough, fucking awful, really. But I would never, _ever_ , do anything to hurt you. And if kids ever became a thing, I would protect them - you all - with my life." Mike's heart rate jumped up at the idea of Ben and Beverly having kids. He looked at Stan again, who had rolled over now, and he felt soft.

"Ben," Beverly started. "I love you very, very much. I just...I get so fucking scared. I am so terrified sometimes." Mike wondered if they were holding hands.

"I know, baby girl, I know. I don't want you to ever feel afraid with me." Ben sat on the bed, more spring squeaking.

"I just need to wait a little." Bev said.

Ben was quiet for a moment and Mike pondered if maybe one of them was crying.

"Beverly Anne, I would wait a hundred years to marry you if that's what you wanted."

Bev laughed. "Well," she said. "Maybe not a hundred years."

Ben laughed now too. "Not long enough?"

They both chuckled now, Beverly sniffing. "Maybe till we're thirty or something, I dunno." There was the soft crackling sound of a kiss. Mike could not stifle a smile that took his lips. "Ask me again in five years." Beverly finished.

Another kiss, the springs groaning under shifted weight. "Let me write it down in my calendar. _July 18, 2022, 'Ask Bev to marry you again'._ " She giggled, the sound hoarse in her throat.

There was the rapid sound of more kisses, and then, "I love you Ben."

"I love you too, Beverly." More kissing, then the sound of ragged panting, and Mike took that as his cue to stop eavesdropping. Things would be okay again.

The Losers were a full family once again.

 

â€¢â€¢â€¢

 

July came to an end, the stark summer heat blanketing the city with its heavy aroma. The Losers continued their days working and going out together, coming home at night to have dinner with one another or going out on the weekends to the quarry to swim.

Audra had been coming around a lot more, they all noticed giddily. They could tell when she was coming because Bill went into a fury of cleaning the house, making sure all of the dishes were cleaned and put away, the refrigerator stocked full to the brim with more than just leftovers and condiments, the couch cushions just so in their respective homes. He even went so far as to make all of the Losers clean their rooms, not that it mattered much for Stan or Eddie or Mike, but with Richie the affair was like pulling teeth.

"I just don't see why _I_ have to get ready for _your_ girlfriend to come over." Richie said in the shadow of his bedroom, kicking a pile of dirty clothes towards the closet. "Not like I'll be going down on her."

Bill held back his "beep beep". "She's not my girlfriend."

Eddie, who was sprawled out on Richie's bed reading a tattered copy of _Leaves of Grass_ , groaned audibly and rolled onto his side, resting his hand under his chin. "Bill if you guys aren't dating then why the hell is she eating all our food?"

Bill threw his hands up. "She doesn't eat _all_ of the food!"

Richie and Eddie made eyes at each other and Richie scoffed. "Yea, Eds, dick is part of the five food groups and she ain't gobbling up this co-"

"Beep beep, Richie, Jesus." Eddie said, covering his face in horror.

"I'm just saying," Bill continued, ignoring the disgusting commentary. "What if she goes into the wrong room or something, and she sees this clusterfuck?" He gestured at the mess on the ground.

Richie too gestured at the room. "It's mah clusterfuck," he said with a southern accent. "And ah a-love it so, Big Billy Boy! Uh ah say, it's mah mess and I'll a-keep it!"

Eddie and Bill both rolled their eyes at this. His voices had got better as the years ran on but that didn't make them any less odious.

"Please, Rich, just like, do your laundry or something."

"But that means I have to go into the basement and it's creeeeepyyyy." Richie whined.

Eddie set his book down and got up from the bed, putting his arm up on Richie's shoulder. It was difficult for him, the other being so much taller. "I'll help you Rich."

Bill dropped his hand to his thighs, sighing relieved. "Thank you."

Richie snickered and tickled into Eddie's side. "Ooooh, Eds, is this your way of saying you wanna do something slutty?"

Eddie shoved him away and began to gather up swooping armfuls of clothes. "Fuck off."

Bill went to go, watching briefly as Richie's eyes lingered on Eddie. Strange.

The rest of the house was easy, picking up old beer bottles, organizing the magazines on the coffee table, opening windows to let in fresh air.

Audra came around six that night, joining Bill, Mike, Stan, Eddie, and the newly rekindled Ben and Beverly for dinner. Richie was at one of his numerous jobs and wasn't be able to join them. They had Chinese takeout, spread out in the living room watching _Game of Thrones_ on the television.

Bill studied her while she ate next to him, carefully placing chopstickfuls of lo mein into her mouth. Her lips were a soft pink, soy sauce staining the bottom one. He hadn't kissed her yet, and he wondered what it would be like to do so.

Whenever he got a call or text from her, his spirits soared. He had never felt this way about anyone before - he had had a crush on Beverly when they were younger but he knew not long after she and Ben became official that it was just sore puppy love. He worried he might be falling in love with her. It only worried him because he hadn't kissed her, so how could he even know if the electricity was there on their mouths the way it was when they brushed arms or held hands. She was beautiful, it was true, long brown hair that glinted red in the sunshine, blue eyes that reminded him of the shallows in the quarry. But she was smart too.

They had driven up to the University of Maine to go to the art museum there and they had putzed around hand-in-hand, her pointing at the photographs or paintings and talking excitedly about them, and all he could do was watch her talk. Her voice was melodious to him, like a song that only he knew the words to. He should have kissed her then, right in front of _Tim_ by Keliy Anderson-Staley, gently holding her hand and pressing with a maddening passion against her. But he hadn't. They had walked away from the portrait to another part of the museum, where she excitedly went on about abstract monuments and the validity of Jackson Pollock.

She loved art and the stars and her mother and her older brother and baby sister. She sent him photographs of drawings she did, little doodles in the corner of her notebooks or full sketches in the black leather bound sketchbook she had received for Christmas one year. She told him she wanted to be an actress, like Audrey Hepburn, or perhaps even Charlize Theron. He told her about his writing and the Losers and his mother and father and Georgie.

He told her, trying to keep his voice from catching repeatedly in the infamous stutter, about the accident. How it had been late September, and his grandmother's birthday had just passed and they went to a dinner at her house up near Bangor. How the sun had set on the way back and a chill had set in. How Georgie was sleeping soundly behind his father driving, his small hand reached out for Bill's only slightly larger one, palm up, fingers curled in. How they had come up at a four way intersection with a stop sign on two of the sides, and they'd pulled to a stop. How Bill had been beginning to doze off, having tried to stay awake the whole car ride just to see if he could do it. How they'd stopped, waited the appropriate three or four seconds, and his father had gently tapped on the gas. How suddenly the car was exploding it seemed, thrown to the right with a sickening twist of metal and flashing sparks. How Bill was suddenly very awake and screaming and crying and snot running over his mouth. How his head slammed against the back passenger window, cracking the glass and making his scalp bleed. His mother tossed and four of her ribs broken. His father's collarbone dislocated and internal bleeding.

But Georgie. His Georgie. He had taken the brunt of the impact it seemed, his head had been leaning against the door for balance, and the man, drunk three times over the limit and not having turned his headlights on, was going 50 in a 30, and he kept going even after initially hitting the van, buckling the left side in on itself, and ultimately, little Georgie Denbrough.

It was said by the coroner that he died almost immediately, his neck having snapped or his organs crushed, Bill couldn't remember. He had a hard time piecing what had gone on in those weeks immediately after the accident, but he remembered for sure he was laid out in a hospital bed for at least two of them, being monitored to see if his brain would swell anymore, and when the swelling started going down, how it would effect him. Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to speak? Would he be blind?

He could walk, shakily for a while, but he did nonetheless. He could see, though his vision was blurry for a month or so. And he _could_ speak, sure, but now he had this...stutter.

It was terrible at first - he couldn't go three or four words without his tongue catching on them, sentences as simple as, "I miss my brother," turned into slobbering messes of, "Uh-uh-I ma-ma-miss my b-b-bruh-bruh-" and he would not be able to go on anymore. It was worse with his parents. Where he needed anything they could give, a hand to hold, or a shoulder to cry on, or just someone to sit in absolute silence with, they could not be bothered. It was as if, Bill thought, Georgie had been the glue holding the family together. And now that he was gone and Bill was damaged goods, his parents didn't want to be parents anymore. But the Losers had been with him, cradling him as he cried, drinking with him when he wanted to self medicate, coming to the funeral and all of them holding hands in one long line.

That was back when he was ten and the feeling had dragged with him up until he was maybe seventeen, and he started getting college brochures. One day he was sitting in the kitchen, looking over the course catalogue for University of Maine to see what creative writing classes they offered, scribbling notes and possibilities into a small spiral notebook. His mother had come into the room quietly, not speaking to him as she placed a glass in the sink. He didn't look at her, he just assumed she would ignore him anyway. But she had lingered at the sink and he looked up to find her watching him. He looked around without moving his head, pen poised between his fingertips.

"Y-yes?" He had asked. The stutter was better now, but still a prevalent part of his identity.

She was frowning, tired eyes and more crow's feet than he had ever realized. Her hair was starting to fall silver around the crown of her head. He felt terrible for not having noticed but pushed the feeling aside as he remembered the last time he'd actually spoken to her had been almost two months ago.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He set down the pen and folded his hands in front of him, waiting.

She swallowed hard, looking at the linoleum. "You've been getting college stuff." She said, her voice vacant and hoarse.

He looked at the brochures and catalogues spread out in front of him. There were six different schools worth of information here - University of Maine, NYU, Stanford, California State University, Harvard for shits and giggles, and one called University of Missouri Kansas City that he had looked at on a whim. He wasn't sure which he wanted to go to, if any at all. He had a hard time thinking about the future right now.

He nodded, but didn't speak. He was worried he would start stuttering more.

"Anywhere good?" She asked and sat at the table. He shrugged, not wanting to put too much effort into this conversation. She didn't really care, he wasn't sure why she was pretending all of a sudden. She made it clear how she felt about her oldest and now only son.

She looked at her fingers again, the frown returning. "Bill, I -" she paused.

He waited, only sort of impatiently.

She looked up at him again, tears flooding her eyes now. His heart seized and he wanted to comfort her, tears drawing behind his eyelashes as well. Nothing could make him cry like seeing his own mother cry.

"Bill, I can't deal with the things I've done to you these last few years. I just can't deal with it. You'll be leaving soon and I -" Her voice broke and tears began to slide down her cheeks, drawing lines in her foundation. Bill was crying fully too, his bottom lip trembling, but it was all involuntary. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear these lies. This sudden remorse.

"Mom," he choked, brow furrowed, and she held up a hand.

"After Geor...after your brother died, I was broken. Your father and I could barely keep our heads above water and..."

He cut her off, his face soaked with tears. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking back his chair. He was sobbing now, angry, trying to choke back the knot in his throat. "Y-y-you don't get to s-s-say anything to m-me. You were so b-b-busy mourning G-G-Georgie that you didn't r-realize I was d-drowning too! My own b-brother, mom! I needed you and dad and you were nowhere to be found! Now you suddenly want to apologize? Seven years later? I can't deal with it either. It kills me every day. So don't f-fucking pretend now you're interested in what I'm doing. Just fucking d-don't."

He had hurriedly gathered up all of the pamphlets and papers and stormed out of the room, throwing his things into his backpack, zipping up some of the edges of paper in the process of closing it, and went outside, climbed on top of Silver, and rode towards the Barrens. He called the others on the ride there and when he arrived, Ben, Mike, and Stan were waiting for him. Richie and Eddie arrived soon after, and they called Beverly, leaving her on speaker as they listened to Bill relay the story. After he explained it, they had sat in silence, all reaching out a hand, touching Bill's skin. That was six years ago.

When he told Audra about all this, leaving out the extra details, she too had reached out and touched Bill, squeezing up his hand. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

And now, here they sat, everyone piled in front the television, Audra letting her knee graze up against the outside of his thigh and laughing anytime Stan made a comment about historical accuracy. She and Eddie were fawning over Jon Snow, her tapping Eddie on the shoulder and they giggled, heads close together. She and Beverly were talking about the weaponry and fight scenes, in awe over the details they had seen in the extras after the episodes.

She leaned over Bill to set down the empty lo mein container on the side table. She smelled like rosemary, and interesting herb to smell like Bill thought, but it seemed all of a sudden rosemary was the most beautiful thing in the history of the planet. He could swim in rosemary. Her cheek was inches from his nose, and she had a coy smile on her face, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye. _Kiss her you idiot, fucking kiss her_. But she sat back and again, his chance was lost.

Later that night, around ten, the others had gone to bed and the two of them lay on Bill's full-sized mattress, watching Netflix on his phone. Audra's eyes were starting to cower in sleepyness and she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

Bill looked at her. "You tired?" He asked, pausing the video.

She rolled over, pulling her arms up so they rested between her chest and his arm, nuzzling her nose down into his shirt sleeve. "A little."

He frowned a little. He just wanted to spend more time pressed up next to her breathing her in, listening to her laugh at John Mulaney, feeling the warm burning of her skin against his. But he quickly pushed the grimace away and smiled softly at her. He knew he would see her again soon. "I can drive you home if you want?"

He set the phone on the bedside table and went to get up. She put a hand on his arm to stop him and he turned, locking eyes with her. Hers were blue, nothing but blue, the type of blue that could swallow you whole, leave you gasping for air, icy cold wolf eyes. Her face was blank, looking for reaction in his.

He felt his heart quicken to a rabbit's beat across a woodland meadow. "Yeah?" He said.

"Or," she started, running a finger down his arm. "I could just stay the night here?"

He stopped breathing then, he thought. Perhaps he misunderstood her? Or he was already asleep and this was a dream? It was such a silly notion that this could be a dream but god she was so gorgeous and he was just William Denbrough, the kid with the stutter and the dead brother who was too chicken-shit to kiss this girl he thought he may be falling in love with.

He swallowed. "H-here?" _Fucking stutter_ , he thought, _just fuck off_.

She nodded, smiling. It was a gentle smile, one without probing or indifference.

He laughed and looked at the wall. What was she asking? Oh my god, what was she asking.

"If you'd like. I-I can set myself something up on the floor or downstairs and you can sleep here." He suggested, always a gentleman.

She breathed out her nose in a laugh and rolled up onto her hands, her legs folded out in front of her.

"Bill, what are you doing?" She asked, her voice only slightly frustrated.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Honestly," he laughed. "I have no fucking idea." He couldn't look at her, very shy all of a sudden.

She crawled up so she sat behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder. He could barely breathe he was so filled with nerves, but he placed a trembling hand on her forearm.

"Bill, you know that I like you, right?" Bill pondered for a moment and then nodded, pressing his mouth blankly against the skin of her arm.

"I know you like me too. So my real question is," she turned his chin to look at her, "Why the fuck haven't you kissed me yet?"

They sat in hot tense silence for a moment, looking from one another's eyes to their mouths and back and forth. After what felt like an eternity, Bill twisted, coming up on the bed and folding his knees up underneath him. She could probably hear his heart it was beating so loud, and he was sweating. He'd kissed girls before, this was no different.

But it was different. This was Audra Phillips.

Her cream colored face was centimeters from his now, her breath sweet like cotton candy. Her eyelashes dusted across her cheeks. He had one of her hands wrapped up in his fingers and she had the other on his hip. He inhaled deeply and whispered, "I don't know why I'm so nervous."

She giggled and replied, "Because you're a good man."

Her mouth fluttered open slightly and they closed the space between the two of them, and there was nothing but electricity. At first, with the initial kiss, it was static, the kiss itself soft and tender, a press and then a smaller one after. Bill's eyes jumped open as she pushed further, drawing herself up onto his lap. Then it was like direct lightening had punched him dead in the face and they were moving against one another in perfect synchronization, hands in hair, Audra's legs wrapping around his waist, panting into his mouth. It was fire on the delicate skin of his lips, and he was laying her down on the bed, pushing his hands up to flatten the pillow for her head to rest on. They broke apart again, a guttural sound emitting from his throat without permission and she smiled, kissing him more. Their tongues touched tentatively, and then harder, Bill's stomach filling with a burning he was going to associate with lust. She pushed her hands up into his shirt, long thin fingers soft. He gasped a little and too put a hand under her's, on the skin of her stomach. She pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor and kissing his collarbone.

She pulled away from his throat, gasping, lips practically purple, and said in a husky voice, "Could we play some music?"

Bill nodded, reaching fumbling over to the bedside clock, pushing over the knob to set it on radio. A song he'd heard but could not recall the name of was playing, a sweet cautious melody, and he thanked whatever gods there were out there that it wasn't something awful.

When he had moved away slightly I turn on the radio, she had taken her shirt off too, wearing a small black bra that cupped her breasts just so. He looked at her in awe, his mind racing with the serendipity of it all and moved himself down, kissing the soft skin at the top of her chest. She had one of her hands in his hair, the other raking the top of his back with her curtly cut fingernails. He was moaning now into her chest, struggling to move his hands under her to unclasp the bra. She was making this sound - god it was driving him crazy! - between a moan and a whine and he stiffened in his jeans. He wasn't going to do anything she didn't want, he wanted it to be right, but if she wanted to, he was willing. She folded her arms behind her back and undid the bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders with a shrug and shoving it to the floor. He brought himself up on his knees and just looked at her for a second. Not just her breasts, that would have been obvious, but all of her. He watched her eyes and they were shining as she tried to catch her breath, and he let his own travel down her. Her breasts were small, probably a handful worth each and her belly button was pierced. He laughed. She didn't seem like she would have had a belly button piercing. The idea struck him as incredible - a piercing - and he continued to look down her, falling to the place where her hips met the front of his pants. She had pushed her hands to the front of her own pants and was undoing the button. He caught her eye, panting.

"What do you want to do?"

She bit her lip, sliding her pants down past her knees and Bill took the initiative to stand and pull them the rest of the way off. She was wearing black underwear that matched her bra - perhaps on purpose - and he set a gentle kiss on the hem of them. She gasped.

"What do _you_ want to do?" She gave back, pulling his shoulders gently so they could look each other in the face again. He rested on his elbow and brushed the hair of her bangs from her forehead.

Bill laughed, touching their noses together. "We're gonna keep running around like this all night." She laughed too and held his face.

"I'd be more than ok with taking the rest of our clothes off and going all the way." Her voice was confident and that only made him want her more. They kissed again, softer now than like the past few minutes, and he undid the button of his jeans with his free hand. She waited, patient, her eyes low and smoky.

He couldn't believe this was happening, this was too perfect, here she was, lying underneath him, kissing and touching and god he _was_ falling in love with her, really falling, he could tell, and it wasn't just the fact that she was half naked, god no, though of course it could completely seem that way, but everything was perfect, they were completely swept up in -

"Alright ladies and gents that was James Arthur's _Say You Won't Let Go_ which is sappy as hell but it's what gets the ladies going -" Oh my god. It was fucking Richie. "Speaking of getting the ladies going I want to give a huuuuuge shoutout to my man Big Billy D, who, according to my other roommates is about to seal the deal with an actual human lady, who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty. But you know who you is, sweetie. Now Bill -" He shoved his face in his hands, turning beet red. "Normally in this situation I'd blast a very specific Peaches song, but I was informed just yesterday that I have to cut back on my use of the 'fuck' word. So tonight, you're gonna just have to settle for -" Bill slammed the radio switch to off so fast he knocked the clock between the bed and the nightstand, absolutely mortified. He was frozen for a moment, and then leaned back onto his legs, pants still unbuttoned and held a hand over his mouth. It was over now. There's no way she would be okay with that. She would storm out, snatching up her clothes and curse at him, say she never wanted to see him again, and that would be that. Bill made a mental note to punch Richie so hard in the crotch that he couldn't walk for five days and he looked down at her.

She had both hands covering her mouth, staring at the ceiling. Her arms had covered up her chest, her legs still bowed around where he sat. He opened his mouth to apologize profusely but she interrupted him.

She started laughing. It started out muffled from behind her fingers but soon the sound was booming out of her chest, side-splitting peals of laughter that were so hearty that tears began to pour from the outside corner of her eyes and she rolled on her side, holding her stomach and practically cackling.

The sound made Bill chuckle, then start to full-on laugh too, his abdomen beginning to ache from the action, and he fell on his back and laughed at the ceiling. Goddamn Richie Tozier.

After maybe five minutes, their guffaws began to die down, and he felt her hand press into his.

They lay there in silence for a moment, only the sounds of their slowing breathing taking hold.

"I am so sorry." Bill said, a small smile taking his mouth.

She looked at him from where she lay, her at the top of the bed and he at the bottom. She shook her head, hair falling in her face, and she moved it back behind her ear. "Don't be, that was gold. I've never been talked about on the radio before. Feel kind of famous." She rolled around on the bed until she could rest her chin against his shoulder, kissing it.

"I'd say let's keep going but now I feel like they're watching us." She said and Bill nodded, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"I completely understand. I could kill him right now." He said. They hunkered down closer together and closed their eyes.

"Audra," Bill said after a moment.

"Hmm?" She murmured, beginning to fall asleep.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

She didn't speak for a minute and he thought she may have fallen asleep. But then she nodded her nose against his arm, smiling and giggling.

"Absolutely."

He took up her hand and kissed it. "Good."

She pressed her forehead to his chin and then kissed him there. "And with this -" she waved her hand over their nakedness, "We can take a little timeout. We've got all the time in the world."

Bill snorted, his eyes starting to flutter closed. "Yeah. A timeout is good. I want everything to be perfect."

She was breathing slower now, sleep nearly consuming her. "Everything is perfect."


	4. Richie Tozier Takes a Powder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers go to karaoke!!

Dead August heat rolled through the hills rising and falling along Derry's borders. School was restarting, kids and young adults alike swarming the stores to get last minute supplies and running wild in the streets as the sun soaked season came to a close. The dog days were far from over, however, and the house was sweating.

Bill had got a job at the high school teaching literature and creative writing. He got the call giving him the job sometime in July. He had become so overwhelmed with excitement that he had grabbed onto the closest thing in range - Stan's arm - and squeezed and shook it, all the while Stan smiling broadly and saying, "What is it girl? Is Timmy trapped in a well?"

When he'd hung up, he ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide and crazed and he laughed with such a feeling that Stan couldn't help but laugh with him. "I got the fucking job!" He screamed, sweeping Stan up into a hug and spinning him around. Stan held on tightly, so goddamned proud of his best friend. They'd gone out to the Brickyard - where Bev worked - and celebrated by having too much to drink.

But Bill was also somewhat let down that the school year was starting back up - that meant Audra was leaving Derry again. She'd been staying up at the Flagg house over the summer but reality was setting in and things had to go back to the way they were before. That meant Audra had NYU and Bill had Derry.

He had driven her to the airport, Mike and Beverly loading up behind them to take the drive. They knew Bill wouldn't want to be alone on the drive home. When they got to the loading-and-unloading-of-passengers-only zone, Bill got out, grabbing her suitcase and lugging it to the curb, biting back tears. He didn't know why he wanted to cry, it wasn't like he'd never see her again. They'd had a detailed discussion on how long distance relationships could go. Bill was worried she'd find someone smarter, more handsome, better than he, and he told her so. They sat with their foreheads pressed together in the backyard, fingers interlaced, discussing everything.

"Bill," she said quietly. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

He looked at her, confused. "How so?" She had smiled, perfect pink lips curling at the edges.

"I think we've passed the falling stage and are straight up in love is all." She kissed him gently on the mouth and he had taken her face in his hands, shaking a little.

And now she was going away. They'd decided to go for it, to be in love from far away. They would FaceTime whenever they could, text constantly, and Audra even suggested they could write letters. Then on the breaks they could fly up and visit. Audra even suggested he come spend Christmas with her family, which he was more than okay with considering how quiet his own home was around the holidays. They had spent the night together just before her flight, and finally, as Richie had so eloquently put it over the radio waves not weeks ago, "sealed the deal", making love to the setting sun and a special playlist Ben had provided.

"You got everything?" Bill said to her as she adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder, hair in a messy bun on top of her head.

She hmmm'd and counted something off on her hand. "Yes, I think so," she dug through her purse briefly and nodded as she confirmed whatever she was looking for was inside. "Yea, all set."

They stared sadly at each other for a long minute until an airport attendant said to them sternly, "Alright we need to move it along."

Bill glared at him and then Audra wrapped her arms around his chest, pressing up into his back and clutching his shirt. He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly.

When she said it at first, he didn't quite hear her, her face muffled into his chest. "Hmm?" He said, his heart beginning to race for some reason. The attendant was coming their way again but he couldn't go without hearing what she had to say, he had to hear it.

"I said I love you, Bill." She said looking up at him and his heart burst in his chest a hundred times over. He couldn't stop smiling, all he could feel was this deep burning sensation that took to his lungs and made his legs feel like rubber.

His stutter started to choke up again as he sputtered out, "I-I love you t-too, Audra." And he had taken her face in his hands and kissed her so hard their teeth rattled together, Beverly and Mike hollering from the car, Mike reaching up to the front seat and honking the horn a few times.

The attendant was next to them again, starting to say something and Bill held a hand out to shut him up - "Yeah, yeah move it along, we got it." He kissed her once more and ran to the driver's seat, beaming like a kid who just got the best gift in the world for Christmas.

"I love you, Audra Phillips!" He called as she walked towards the sliding doors.

"And I love you William Denbrough!" She said, turning and cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone.

Bill got in the car and slammed the door. Bev and Mike were screaming at him, "YOU SAID IT YOU SAID THE LOVE WORD OH MY GOD!" A train's length of cars had piled up in the turning lane behind him but Bill didn't even notice. He was on the moon, completely head over heels in love with that damn girl.

The other Losers were taking the end of the summer in stride, trying their best to get in everything the season had to offer before the air chilled and the leaves began to twist and fall into the dirt. Stan and Eddie planned a group outing to the quarry, complete with a picnic and maybe a small bonfire - Stan didn't seem to think they could get away with it, but Ben personally didn't see why not. He could build a makeshift fire pit, scraping some dirt into a wide circle on the tiny substitute beach and surround it with rocks. Richie said quietly, "Smores?" And Bev had nodded vigorously.

They went down on a Tuesday afternoon, packing up sandwiches, homemade potato salad - Stan's recipe - hot dogs, some beer, chocolate pudding - they assumed, that was Richie's contribution - some other snacks, and all the fixings for Smores. Mike and Ben set to building the fire pit, the others stripping their clothes from sticky sweaty bodies and going for a swim.

By the time they had finished the pit, a three foot round groove in the sand with a small makeshift wall stacked up shin high with flatter-sitting stones, the others were ready to eat. Mike stacked kindling and yellowed grass on top of one another in a teepee fashion and lit it using Bev's purple lighter. It burned up slowly, starting as a thick grey smoke that made Eddie cough before it grew into a full on flame, crackling and spitting as Bill and Ben roasted hot dogs. The sky was clear, no clouds blocking out the raging sun to protect their skin. Eddie insisted on slathering everyone of them in what felt like a gallon of sunscreen each, Mike making a comment about needing it the most while Richie said he'd rather burn than wear what he was going to henceforth refer to as "Sun-Repellant-Semen," to which Eddie replied, "Beep beep, Rich."

The sun baked them from overhead, Beverly laying out on a yellow towel with her heart shaped sunglasses on. She chatted with Richie about the radio gig, pulling a cigarette to her lips occasionally and taking a drag.

Eddie and Bill were talking about the teaching position - Eddie, for some reason, was upset that he no longer had to go to school.

"I went for nearly two decades of my life and now I have nothing to do!" He cried.

Stan and Mike, sitting with their knees touching, looked at him incredulously. "Why is that an issue? You have an adult job now!" Stan said, stretching his legs out in front of him to dry near the fire.

Eddie shrugged. "I dunno. I guess it was just nice to have something to do. I always had tests to study for or notes to look over. Now I feel stagnant."

They understood, even if they didn't feel the same. There was something familiar to them of the halls of the Derry public school system, something like home. Even if they didn't always like it or feel safe there - thank you Henry Bowers - it was where they all started to become friends.

Richie tossed the remainder of his cigarette in the fire and exhaled the smoke, his mouth a small 'o'. He went and sat next to Eddie, more on top of him than next to really, taking him under his arm. Eddie let it rest there, sighing in anticipation of whatever crude or ridiculous thing was about to come out of his mouth.

"I feel you Eddie. And if you'd like, later tonight, you can feel me." The group groaned. It was like he wasn't even trying anymore.

Beverly laughed and sat up, digging her fingertips into the sand. "Rich you are one bad joke away from getting punched in the dick, I swear."

Bill stood abruptly, remembering, and shouted, "Oh yeah!" And he made a rush at Richie, who tumbled backwards over the rock he had been sitting on and hopped up, running towards the water.

"Fuck you and the horse you road in on, Richard Tozier!" He screamed, laughing as Richie dived poorly into the quarry, Bill splashing in behind him. Beverly and Stan joined next, Mike, Ben, and Eddie watching, shaking their heads.

They went home around 7, the sun beginning to come down from its peak at the top of the sky. They had all ridden along in Beverly's jeep, piled arms and legs on top of one another. Ben had his arm laced over the armrest, Bev's hand resting on top of it. Bill was stuck in next to Eddie and Richie on his other side, Stan and Mike in the back. Bill looked over at Eddie, who was passed out, his head laying on Richie's shoulder, his legs pulled up and kneeing Richie in the chest. Richie had placed his arm around his shoulders, snuggling him in tightly to his body. He was staring out the window, a small smile on his face.

Bill watched them for a moment, pondering the situation. It wasn't terribly strange, he thought; Richie had always been affectionate with Eddie, even moreso than with Bev or Stan.

There were several different dynamics that took place inside the Losers Club, something Beverly had once called, "Platonic Couplehood."

There was Ben and Beverly, clearly connected by their relationship status. But Bev and Richie were closer than close, connecting over their families and smoking habits. Then Richie had Stan, and they were the type of best friends to roast each other but then fight to the teeth anyone who got in their way. There was also Richie and Eddie, who had a sort of flirty friendship. Which really meant Richie flirted and Eddie complained about it. Stan was close with Bill, Richie, and Mike. He and Mike both loved animals and they were often hanging out birdwatching in the park or down at the Barrens. Stan and Bill were close like brothers, with Stanley being the younger of the two Bill felt it necessary to keep watch over him. Sometimes it felt like Stan was holding things back, but like a good elder brother, Bill didn't push the issue. Mike was also close with Ben, bonding over their love of math and literature, of blooming spring trees and the taste of rhubarb pie. Mike was also close to Beverly after they had a heart to heart on the bleachers after school one day. They knew more about one another than they let on. Eddie had Richie, of course, but Bill was his best-best friend. Bill had been placed next to Eddie on the first day of kindergarten and from there their friendship was a deal sealed in blood.

They were all thick as thieves, but there were some portions of their lives the others didn't know. For a moment Bill felt a twinge of jealousy somewhere in the pit of his stomach, but he buried it.

"Rich," he whispered so as not to wake Eddie. He was a mouthbreathing sleeper, completely surrendered to what took him under and glued him to whatever was closest to him, whether that be a pillow, blankets, or in this case, Richie.

Richie turned and his smile wavered briefly, as if it had been completely unintentional. He nodded at him.

Bill pointed a finger quickly between he and Eddie, smiling wildly. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Is something going on here?"

Richie pulled his classic smirk, one corner of his mouth curving the dimple in his cheek. "A gentleman never kisses and tells," he replied, looking back out the window.

"And when have you ever been a gentleman?" Mike chuckled, Stan slapping him lightly on the arm.

Richie, turning so that his hair flipped over his shoulder, gave Mike a shit-eating grin. "Shit, you fucking right." He brought up his free hand to bump fists with him, Stan and Bill rolling their eyes.

Bill caught Richie looking up at the rear view mirror, blinking slowly and nodding. In the reflection, Beverly and he were making eye contact, strong and dedicated.

When they arrived home, twilight had begun to settle, the sky a mix of violets and pinks. Mike carried a sleeping Eddie halfway to the door before he woke up, squirming in Mike's arms. "Put me down, dude, I have legs!"

They had all laughed as Eddie straightened his sweatshirt and walked proudly up the steps as if he hadn't just been up in strong arms bridal style. Richie and Beverly fell back, lighting cigarettes. Bill stopped momentarily too, looking at Richie as he watched Eddie go up inside, followed by Stan, Mike, and Ben. Bill wanted to join them, even ask for a cigarette himself perhaps to be able to join the conversation, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Audra, and he took the opportunity to push away his doubt once more by answering it. Doubt, he wondered, was that the right word? Or maybe moreover an absent feeling, like he was missing out on some big grand thing. Something was coming. He just didn't know what.

 

\---

 

Eddie yawned, pulling the back of his fist to his mouth. He was sprawled out on Richie's bed, the blankets pulled up around his legs. Stan and Richie were playing Battlefront on the tiny television, Stan clearly beating Richie with his CGI Luke Skywalker.

"You're fucking cheating!" Richie cried, elbowing Stan in the ribs.

He laughed. "How the hell could I cheat! I'm better than you, just admit it!"

"No way, you're playing as a terrorist!" He replied.

Eddie joined Stan in laughing this time, and Richie turned to look at him. He almost forgotten he was there he had been so engrossed in the game.

"How are the rebels terrorists, Rich? They just want freedom like everyone else."

Richie scoffed. "They blew up the _Freedom_ Star, Edward. There were families and shit living there. Regular Joes. The dudes who cleaned toilets got blown up, too."

He watched Eddie's face, his mouth moving silently as he explained something, but he couldn't hear it. He was suddenly too caught up in the soft curves and jagged peaks of his face. The way his hair, so fucking curly goddamn, licked the top of his ears and swept across his forehead. Deep set chocolate eyes that glittered whenever he talked to him, set above a spattering of light freckles over his nose and cheekbones. He watched his lips, which always seemed like they were in a perpetual smirk, well at least whenever he was talking to Richie. They were so over-moisturized, something Richie liked to tease him about, threatening to press his own chapped ones against them. Something purred inside Richie's stomach, a slowly growing ache that he didn't recognize.

"...and the Empire is literally based off fascist Nazi Germany." Eddie finished whatever he was saying.

Richie shook his head, coming back down. "Uhh..." he said, trying to remember what the hell was just said.

"Literally in the room with a Jew, Trashmouth. Try not to say anything too fucking stupid." Stan said, staring slack jawed at the tv, still killing Stormtroopers and other Imperial bad guys.

Richie pursed his lips at Stan. "I wasn't saying anything like that, besides you're not even really that Jewy. And anyways, y'all know I'm a fucking slut for Organa."

Stan snorted. "Senator or General?"

"Yes." Richie replied.

He turned and winked at Eddie. And for the first time in maybe forever, Eddie didn't roll his eyes or look away. Instead, he laughed, the sound bell-like, and held his eyes for a very long time. It was Richie who finally looked away, blush taking to his cheeks and the purr growing.

The feeling made him nauseous, it was new and unexpected, and he couldn't help but think maybe he was getting food poisoning. Why did Eddie look at him like that? Why didn't he look away? He usually looked away when Richie said stupid shit. Or he gave back something to get him to shut up. Not this time, and it drove Richie to smile at his controller, glasses sliding down his nose.

For what may have been the first time in his 23 years, Richie Tozier was absolutely speechless, one thought swimming in his mind.

Eddie Kaspbrak hadn't looked away.

He stood trembling outside the room, drumming his fingers on his legs. His heart was beating steadily in his ears, and he exhaled to steady himself. He just had to do it.

Richie banged the side of his fist against Beverly's door, trying to catch his breath. Why the fuck was he so nervous? Shit, why was he being so formal? He should have just stormed in and said everything running through his mind.

"Yeah?" Beverly's voice came from inside.

"It's me," his voice cracked and he felt like a thirteen year old boy once more, legs shaking as he shot up and voice splitting every other syllable.

"Uh, come in?" And he did before she'd even finished her sentence.

She was laying on her stomach on the bed, her laptop lighting up her face in the dim room. Ben wasn't there, and for that he was thankful.

"Why the fuck did you knock?" She said laughing and rolled up so her legs were crossed in front of her. She watched him. He'd started to pace in front of her, shoving his index and middle fingers into his mouth to gnaw at the skin on the edges of his fingernails.

"Bev I gotta tell you something and you can't say anything to anyone, okay?" He ignored her question, not even looking at her, he could only focus on the spots directly in front of his feet. His chest was heaving over all of it, and he couldn't decide exactly where he wanted to start.

She was watching him patiently, following his movement with eyebrows pulled down over her blue eyes. "Rich, you okay?"

He nodded and then paused in front of her, his long fingers pressed together as if in a prayer. He pulled the tops of his fingers to his lips, took a deep breath and pointed them back to her.

"I think I'm falling in love with Eddie." He let the words hang in the air between them like a fog. He took a catcher's stance and covered his mouth with both hands, the fraying cloth bracelet he wore on his wrist brushing up against the semblance of stubble on his chin. He wanted to vomit, not that anything would come up besides bile - he'd been so caught up in thinking about this, how he would tell her this to see if he was insane, that he'd forgotten to eat. It'd been almost a week since Eddie hadn't looked away and the confusion of it had been eating away at him since then, especially awful today. He had just putzed around his room, laying on the bed, sitting uncomfortably in the armchair, folding himself up in the pile of clothes outside his closet, chainsmoking, and then in a panic, all the stress building up until he felt like he was suffocating, he had cleaned his room, throwing all the clothes into the cracked laundry basket he brought from home and taken them down to the basement to wash. He had organized the desk, opened the windows on the hot afternoon to let in fresh air, emptied his ashtray into the trash can, then tossed in all the empty Dorito bags, old Mountain Dew cans, a magazine that he'd spilled a glass of orange juice on and was no longer openable. He had stolen the broom and dustpan from the kitchen closet and swept the whole room, even going so far as to push the broom under the bed to grab anything he'd missed prior. He'd made the bed, folded and hung up the clothes as appropriate, laid on the newly made bed for 45 minutes and then went to her door and now here he was, waiting for her to respond.

She didn't say anything, she was just looking at him. Her face hadn't changed, she was biting the inside of her cheek and staring with soft eyes.

Richie put his hands out to say, "So?"

She exhaled slowly through her nose, closing her laptop.

"Babes," she said quietly. "You've _been_ in love with him for a while."

He stared at her, his mouth having fallen open. "The fuck?"

She got up from the bed, sweatpants and bare feet and went to the window, grabbing up her smokes and offering him one. He took it gratefully. He'd smoked the remainder of his own pack in his room not long before he came over here. They each lit the cigarettes - yellow American Spirits - and exhaled. Bev was looking out the window and Richie had taken up peeling a thin remainder of black fingernail polish from his pinky.

"So," she said after a moment, looking at him now. "Should I clarify for you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that'd be neato."

She chuckled and flicked the filter end with her thumbnail. "You say you're falling in love, but honey, you've been in love with that boy since we were 19."

Richie pinched his face up and took a drag. "What are you talking about?"

Beverly took a deep breath like she was about to scream for a millennium. "Damn Rich, you don't even recognize it do you? Okay, look, so you remember right after Ed's birthday that year we threw that party, right? And Eddie brought this guy he was seeing, what was his fucking name? Something with a T-"

"Trevor."

"Right, Trevor. And they got into this huge fight at the party and Trevor fucking stormed out or whatever and Eddie was crying the whole night because Trevor was his first real boyfriend. Real anything."

"Yeah, what does that have to do with anything though?"

Beverly put her hand on his bouncing knee, immediately stopping its movement. "Rich, I've never seen you act like that with anyone else. You carried him to his room, tucked him into bed, fucking brought him water and shit. Like, we all just sat around too drunk to do much but you sobered up like that." She snapped her fingers.

He sighed. "That doesn't mean I was in love with him, Bev."

She raised a finger. "That's not all of it. You held him, listening to everything he had to say, and this look you had in your eyes." She paused. "Rich it was like he was the moon and you were seeing sky for the first time."

He listened and pondered this for a moment. "Okay?"

"Richie," she chuckled, pressing her back against the windowsill. "When was the last time you were with anyone, romantically or otherwise?"

He thought about it for a moment, taking a few hits off his cigarette. Well, there was Will back in, no they never more than kissed... what about Roxy, no she'd barely held his hand... David had...no... not him. Jesus... when _was_ the last time he got laid?

He sighed and shrugged, to which she nodded. "Exactly. You haven't slept with or dated anyone since that night. And that was nearly five years ago. And you have always been affectionate with him -"

"Oh please, I'm affectionate with you and Stan!"

Beverly gave him a look, pursed lips, cocked head, the works. "I have never seen you kiss Stan on the neck or had you whisper in my ear the way you do with Eddie."

Richie blushed. He fiddled with the paper on the end of the cigarette and sighed. His glasses were fogging up on his nose and his face was heating up. Was he really so blind to it all?

"So," he said.

Beverly placed her hand on his knee, stroking the denim of his jeans with her thumb. "So."

They sat in silence for another moment, listening to the far away sounds of cars on Kansas Street and a lawnmower as someone pushed it across their unbridled yard.

"What do I do, Bev?" Richie said, his voice nearly a whine. "He means the world to me. As a friend and..."

She smashed the lit end of the cigarette with her fingers, rolling it between them. "Do you want something to happen between you two?" She asked.

He sighed hard. "I don't want to ruin anything."

"But you _are_ in love with him, Rich. I can see it. Ben can see it. Stan and me have discussed it -"

"You talked about it with Stan?" He cried, throwing his hands up.

"You guys are supposedly close and you haven't talked to him about it so he asked, yes! But it doesn't matter. Eddie may be the only one of us who hasn't noticed." Bev said.

Rich looked out the window and sighed. "What if he doesn't want me?"

Bev shrugged sadly. "Then I guess nothing happens. Do you want to try to be with him?"

He thought about it. Did he want to be with him? Yes. He wanted to see what it felt like to finally press his mouth down into Eddie's, something he had probably wanted to do since they were teenagers. He wanted to know what it felt like to tangle his hands up in his hair instead of just messing it up. He wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like to wake up next to him, his own body curled around Eddie's smaller one. He wanted to hold his hand and take him to dinner and go see Eddie's neurotic mother as his boyfriend, his _boyfriend_ , not just his loudmouth asshole best friend. He wanted all of it.

But he would never forgive himself if something happened. If he didn't actually make him happy. If he took something too far one day and said something and Eddie realized he would never change, he would always be Trashmouth Tozier, the kid with greasy hair and broken glasses and too much to say. He didn't want to break Eddie's heart. He didn't want Eddie to break his heart. And he didn't want to lose their friendship. He loved him, had loved him since they had first become friends nearly 15 years ago, and even if he didn't want to admit it to himself yet he was _in_ love with him as well. Maybe that meant he should stay away.

"I don't...want to ruin anything." Richie repeated.

Beverly sighed and took his hands in hers. She searched his eyes behind glass and chewed her bottom lip. "Then I guess you don't do anything."

With that, Richie felt tears begin to rise behind his eyes. He put a hand over his mouth to try and hush them, but they came anyway. Quiet, fat tears ran down his cheeks, his body shaking with each silenced sob, and Beverly took his head into her chest, holding him as he cried.

 

 

Bill burst into the kitchen, phone in hand and panting, a huge smile taking over his whole face. Richie was laying out over two chairs, his feet propped up onto Mike's lap, Stan and Eddie on his other side eating sandwiches. Beverly sat on the counter, one of her bare legs pulled up and the other swinging back and forth into the cabinet, a steady _thump-thump-thump._ Ben was fiddling with the lock on the backdoor, trying to tighten it in its socket.

They all looked at him when he came in, waiting. He held his phone aloft and exhaled hard, trying to catch his breath. "Audra's coming!" He said.

Beverly lit up. "Right now?"

Bill shook his head and patted his chest. "This weekend. We have the day off at the high school and she's going to skip class and come up for the weekend. So, yeah."

"So we should celebrate!" Mike said, looking over at Stan. He nodded.

"Absolutely!" Stan said, setting down his sandwich and dusting his fingers off over the plate.

Richie perked up a little. He could use some celebrating. It'd been two weeks since the conversation in Beverly's room and he didn't feel different or better. He could feel himself still pining, watching Eddie whenever they were together. His heart would race whenever he saw him around the house, or his name appeared in the group chat, or even when he could hear his voice in a different room. At one point Mike was talking to Ben and just said the word 'ready' and he had stopped on a dime and nearly tripped over his own feet to hear what they were talking about.

He was falling head over heels for Eddie and there was nothing he could do to stop it it seemed. And it was making things harder in general. He and Eddie and Ben and Stan were watching a movie last Tuesday and Eddie had his phone out the entire time, the small screen lighting up his face. Richie watched with a growing anger filling the pit of his stomach, wondering who he could possibly be texting. He tried to justify it to himself even, thinking no, it has nothing to do with how I feel about him, I'm just trying to enjoy the movie and he's got to be _that_ guy who has his phone out through the entirety of the film. But so did Stan and Richie didn't even give him a passing glance. It was Eddie. And the fact that he could have been texting someone else.

Richie had never considered himself a jealous person, he was usually the type who would let you leave if you wanted - if you didn't want him so be it. And he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why Eddie was having this effect on him. They'd known each other forever, and yeah, sure, Richie probably liked him more than any other person he'd ever liked. Er, well loved. That word frightened him.

Love? How could he love Eddie? He'd never loved anyone before so how could he know if that was what he was feeling. But these were all excuses. Richie was in love with him, and it was only getting worse.

He sat up in his seat and tried not to look directly at him, but he was there in the corner of his eye anyway, eating the meat that had fallen out of his sandwich with his fingers. He pressed one of them into his mouth and let it linger there and Richie felt a dull ache in his pants. God he had it bad.

"What should we go do?" Mike asked, pressing the tops of Richie's shoes absently.

"She'll be here Thursday around 8. Her last class gets done at like 2." Bill said.

Beverly held up a finger and slapped her hand on her leg. "It's fucking karaoke Thursday! We should go to karaoke!" She looked at Stan and Mike, who were agreeing enthusiastically.

"Yes karaoke, oh my god, it's been a minute!" Stan said.

Richie looked from Bev to Stan to Eddie, trying to play off the fact that he only wanted to look at Eddie. "Who all's going?" He asked.

Stan, Beverly, Ben, Bill, and Mike raised their hands, but Eddie hesitated for a moment and Richie felt his heart sink underneath his ribs.

"I'm down," he finally said and Richie tried to hide a smile. He caught Beverly's eye.

She was frowning slightly at him, but it wasn't a look of disappointment, just...sadness. Worry.

The others were talking but he couldn't break his gaze with her. And every second that passed, he was starting to get more nervous. It was like she was saying a hundred things by just staring at him. Don't get too excited. Don't get your hopes up. Don't do anything rash. Unless you want to. If you do then go for it. But be careful. I love you. I want you to be happy. Be careful be careful be careful.

It took a moment for Richie to pull his eyes away from her's and by then Eddie, Ben, and Bill had left the room, discussing loudly the semantics of Thursday evening. Mike and Stan were whispering amongst each other and Beverly nodded towards the door. Richie pulled his legs carefully from Mike's lap, who looked at him briefly, and they went outside.

As soon as Beverly put the cigarette in between his fingers, he started pacing, the sun starting to fall behind the house. He stuck it in his teeth but didn't light it, Beverly setting the end of her own on fire. She let him pace for a moment, his feet running a track in the grass just off the patio square and she rolled the filter slowly between her fingers.

He was trying to find the words, a distant echoing of all the things they had said to one another in the bedroom ricocheting around his brain. She had seen the remnants of excitement on his face, she knew what he was thinking. But she wanted to hear it. It was that Eddie would be there. Eddie. Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie. Jesus Christ what was wrong with him it's only Eddie!

"What are you thinking, Rich?" Beverly's voice cut through his stream of consciousness, and he looked at her. She was squinting at him, waiting. Her cigarette burned dully in her hand.

He shook his head; he didn't know for sure yet.

"Richie,"� she drew his name out on her tongue.

He didn't stop pacing, but all of the words came at once. "Ya know, I thought I could do it. Be okay. Pretend I didn't want him. Leave him be. Just like... I dunno, fuck around elsewhere, maybe try and play it cool and just like keep doing me or whatever but I can't even think straight? Like, I can't even make my stupid fucking jokes anymore or flirt no holds bar anymore? But every time I see him I feel sick? Like my stomach hurts? And-and-and I want to kiss him? All the time! All the time, Bev, it's fucking gross! And sometimes I wonder what he's doing when we're not around each other? And like, I dream about him? And I want him to go to karaoke and I thought if he didn't go I honestly wouldn't go, Bev I legitimately thought about skipping the bar because Eds might not go! And it's ridiculous because why now? Like, straight the fuck up why now? Why couldn't all this shit happen in high school? So I could make the mistake and move on? Why does it have to be now? And-and-and like, why the fuck am I so jealous, all of a sudden? Seriously, Bev, it's ridiculous like he was on the phone with his mom, his goddamn mother the other day and I nearly lost my shit it's gross. I don't want to be that guy who gets caught up and like fucking locks him away because that's fucking gross and I want him to have the world. Like give that boy the goddamn world because he deserves it, ya know? And I can't fucking give that to him, Bev, I can't give it to him and it kills me, it fucking kills me and I need you to tell me what to do." He finally stopped, panting, his cigarette still unlit.

She laughed. "Butterflies."

He coughed. "What?"

"That sick feeling," she pointed at him with the smoke. "It's butterflies."

He screwed his face up. "Well butterflies are fucking gross and I don't want 'em."

She chuckled. "You're pretty fucking gross sometimes, Trashmouth"

"Well, regardless, I don't need them. I can't eat anything because of it and I'm fucking hungry as shit." He ran a hand through his hair and extended the other one shaking. She pressed the lighter into it. He used it and inhaled deeply, the smoke hitting his lungs like cool water.

"I can't tell you what to do Rich. Just like you couldn't tell me what to do with Ben." She said.

"Bev, what if I do something stupid?" He asked, his voice wavering.

She shrugged and sighed. "Like specifically or generally?"

He waved his hands around, cigarette dangling from his lips. "I suppose in general."

"Are you drinking Thursday?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. Especially since he'll be there."

Beverly pursed her lips. "How bout this?" She sat down on the edge of the planter at the corner of the patio and tucked one of her legs over the other, bare feet pale like milk under the lavender and rouge of the sky. "If ever - _ever_ \- you feel like you're going to do something stupid, say something you shouldn't or you feel scared, just say you want to go like... I dunno, powder your nose or some shit."

Richie started pacing again. "What, like cocaine?"

Beverly rolled her eyes. "No, idiot, it's what girls sometimes say when they want to talk shit in the bathroom."

"I have never in my life heard you or any other woman say that." Richie said, taking another deep hit from the cigarette. It tasted strange to him and he wondered if maybe it was a Pall Mall.

" _Regardless_ , Richard, say something like that and we will go take a smoke break. Give you time away to not do something you don't want." She pulled her nearly-gone cigarette to her mouth and smiled mischievously. "Plus it sounds like a code."

Richie finally stopped, facing east. "Why wouldn't I just say I'm taking a smoke break?"

Bev waved her hands. "It doesn't matter what you say, it's just to get you out of the situation. The code be damned!" She sounded frustrated, but she was laughing.

Richie sighed and turned to face her. "You promise you won't let me do anything stupid?"

She crushed the filter in the flowerpot, brushing the dirt from her hands and exhaling a line of grey smoke over her head. She held out a crooked pinky, the black fingernail polish on it chipping away at the edges. He linked it with his own, his throat tingling a little. He swallowed hard and held her gaze.

"I promise. No matter what you choose, I promise I won't let you do anything too stupid."

He rolled his eyes, and pulled his hand away. "Clarification of "too stupid"; appreciate it."

Beverly shrugged and rubbed his shoulder. "I can only do so much."

He sighed and looked up at the house. He knew somewhere inside, Eddie was milling about, perhaps smiling loudly and making plans, no idea that his best friend was just outside, wishing he could tell him how in love with him he was.

 

 

When Audra arrived, the seven of them were all stood in the living room. Bill was panicking, Beverly and Stan fixing his hair and straightening his clothes and telling him over and over again, "You look great. You're great, Bill. Jesus she already wants to make out with you, relax."

Richie was curled up on the window seat, glasses sliding down his face, a bottle of Pabst in his hands. He was bringing it to his lips every few seconds and this was already his third one. He started feeling nervous about noon when Eddie came to his door to ask if he was drinking tonight.

He had practically jumped out of his skin when Eds rapped on the open door and tried to brush it off by leaning casually against the wall.

Eddie grimaced at him. "Uh, you cool?"

He tried to swallow but found it difficult. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Just fine, I'm great, great yeah - how are you? What's up?" God he felt like a fucking idiot.

Eddie came in the door fully and crossed his arms over his chest. "You drinking tonight? I'm just trying to see who can drive."

Richie made a raspberry with his lips. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at Eddie; he was afraid he'd notice he was blushing.

"Yeah, I mean, yeah, I'm gonna drink. Unless I shouldn't - why, are you drinking? Are you not drinking?" He glanced out the corner of his eye. Eddie was smirking at him. The blush grew deeper on his cheeks and he smiled at the floor.

"I planned on drinking, yeah. Bev said she could maybe drink one and then drive us. Stan might not drink either. You're welcome to drink, Richie. But only if you make me a promise."

Richie looked up, his eyes swimming with hopefulness. "Oh yeah?" He stood up straight. "What's that?"

Eddie leaned against the door jamb. "Promise you'll buy me a drink."

He practically melted, like ice cream all over the hand of a five-year-old kid on a midsummer day. It took him a moment to choke out his answer. "Y-yeah. Absolutely. A gin and tonic, I assume?"

Eddie scoffed, and he was already turning to leave the room. "You know me pretty well there, Rich."

And now he was two and half almost three beers in, freaking out. He had originally thought, if he could get the perfect amount of tipsy - not too sober, not too drunk - he might be brave enough to tell Eddie. Maybe pull him aside at the bar and tell him how he felt. Maybe finally press their faces together until their teeth crashed and pick him up and put him against a wall. Something slutty - but only if Eddie wanted it. All of that initial courage was out the window, dying on the grass outside the house. He was afraid. What if Eddie already had a boyfriend? Shit what if he didn't like Richie like that at all? There were times where Eddie flirted back, but that was when they were teenagers. It was always a joke, never serious. He couldn't get a read on him.

Eddie was sitting on the couch next to Mike and they were watching as Bill was primped and preened in the center of the living room. Richie couldn't take his eyes off of him. He looked so handsome - a word he never used - tonight. A plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair was messy today, the curls falling haphazardly in his face. And his face, tan and freckled, was bright with laughter and he leaned into Mike a little. Richie felt that now all-too familiar pang of jealousy and he took another swig of beer. He was starting to feel it all, the drunkenness burning slowly along the skin of his arms and in his chest. He shouldn't be jealous of Mike; he was his best friend. They all were.

When Audra's rental car finally pulled up in front of the house, its lights hitting the window in a blinding beam that caught the lenses of Richie's glasses, it was half past nine. Bill practically froze in place, his chest heaving.

"She's here," Stan said and pushed Bill towards the door. It took a second but then his feet started moving, the others going to the door with him. Richie stayed put on the window seat, watching as they all got up from their places and followed Bill like a cloud. His eyes caught Eddie, behind Ben who had his hands on Beverly's waist. The way Eddie's hips moved as he walked made him want to jump up and put his hands there too, like Ben with Beverly, and press his lips to his neck.

But he didn't. He stayed glued to his seat, watching everything unfold from inside. Bill running outside and catching Audra up in his arms and planting a thousand thousand kisses on her. Beverly, Ben, and Mike next giving her hugs as she came up the sidewalk, Bill behind her with her small red suitcase, Eddie and Stan giving her a hug at the same time. It was as she came in the door, wearing black leggings and a thin grey croptop with her hair half in a bun on top of her head and half down, that Richie got up, setting down his beer and hiding behind the short wall that cut the living room from the foyer. When she pulled out into the doorway, saying, "Well where is he?", he popped out from behind the corner, growling.

"I gotcha!" He said and she turned in his arms, smiling up at him.

"Hey Richie," she said into his chest.

It was madness to him that they'd all become so close with Audra in the few short months they'd known her. She wasn't a Loser by any means - they'd made their group long before she came along - but that didn't make her any less family.

"What took you so long? You were supposed to be here at eight I thought." He said as the others crowded in around him. Bill came up and placed his hand on the small of her back, beaming at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Traffic out of Bangor was insane. I'm surprised I made it this quickly." She said.

"I'm just glad you made it safe." Bill said. She pressed into him and he kissed the top of her head.

"So we ready to go?" Mike asked. He was brushing against Stan's arm with his fingers. Richie looked away rather quickly as if he were catching a glimpse of something strange and foreign, something he wasn't supposed to see. He focused back on Bill and Audra, who were still lost in each other's eyes.

"Takes about thirty minutes to get there with late night traffic, so by the time we get there things'll start getting busy, probably." Beverly followed up. Bill turned away and breathed in like he was gasping for air.

"Yes, absolutely, let's do it. I'll drive and you?" He said pointing between Bev and Stan. They both nodded.

"Bev can drive there and I'll drive back if she drinks too much." Stan said.

"Perfect!" Audra said, clapping her hands together. "Let me just run and clean myself up real quick and we'll go."

"Gotta powder your nose?" Richie asked, tossing Beverly a smartass smile.

"What?" Audra asked, her tiny nose pinching up.

Richie waved a hand at her. "Ignore me, everyone else does."

She shook her head and Bill led her to the bathroom behind the kitchen.

They left about ten minutes later, piling into Audra's rental and Bev's jeep. Bill jumped shotgun in the rental, Stan and Mike pressed in behind them. Ben, Richie, and Eddie got into the jeep, Richie letting the middle seat go untaken. Eddie looked at him as he clicked his seatbelt into place, eyebrow raised.

But he didn't want to sit too close. Suddenly it felt too suspicious, even though he had done it a hundred times. He kept drumming his fingers against his bouncing legs.

When they arrived there was a bit of a line but Beverly wasn't worried. "They won't make us pay the cover." She said matter-of-factly.

And indeed it was so. Beverly came up first, Ben immediately behind her. She pointed at the others, counting out the eight of them to the bouncer, a burly white man with a ginger beard and a septum ring matching her's, and everything they said to one another was drowned out by the music blaring out the open door. The bouncer said something to Bev close to her ear and she laughed and stuck her tongue out. The bearded man waved them past, shaking Ben's hand as he did so, and the eight of them streamed past the line of disgruntled guests waiting to get in.

The bar was crowded, its concrete floors filled with college types and sticky with spilled beer. Richie saw the bartop in the far right corner, past the stage where a man dressed in flannel and cowboy boots was singing a tone deaf rendition of _Friends in Low Places_ and he pushed past the others towards it. Eddie had been watching him the entire car ride and he needed something to calm his nerves.

He came up to an empty space between a blonde sorority girl and a frat boy talking to one of his brothers. The bartenders were running back and forth getting beers and pouring liquor into clear plastic cups. He felt a hand on his back and he turned, flinching a little. It was Eddie, but the others were behind him.

"Are you okay, Richie? You've been real jumpy lately." His eyes were concerned and looking down into them made Richie's heart leap.

"Of course I'm okay, Eds. I just haven't been getting much sleep lately from all the late night sex calls with your mom." He smiled wryly.

"Beep beep, Rich." Eddie replied, shoving him playfully on the arm. The touch made his stomach flip.

"Hey!" Beverly said. Richie hesitantly looked away from Eddie and caught her eye. "Mike had a great idea! We're all going to choose each other's song tonight."

Richie glared at Mike who was laughing and rubbing his hands together like a maniacal super villain. "Who's picking whose?" He asked.

Mike pointed at each of them as he talked, his voice raised above the bass and voices of the other bar goers. "You'll pick Eddie's, Eddie will pick Bill's, Bill will pick Ben's, Ben will pick Audra's, Audra will pick Stan's, Stan's got mine, I got Bev's and she'll get yours. Sound easy enough?"

Richie pretended to count something out on his fingers. Eddie hit him in the chest gently with the back of his hand and he laughed. "Yeah, got it. Just remember who you're picking and it's easy-peasy."

Eddie jabbed a finger into his black shirt. "Don't pick anything stupid, Trashmouth. I don't want to be singing anything filthy."

A wicked grin took over Richie's face. "Eddie I promise I will pick something fantastically naughty, the perfect song you can write home to mom about."

Ben laughed over Bev's shoulder. "Something slutty?"

Richie pointed a finger gun at him. "Boy-o, Haystack, you got it on point."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.

Rich ordered the first round of drinks for everyone except Stan, who ordered a Coke, and they all rushed up to the booth to pick out their songs. The karaoke selection book was filled with songs ranging from the classics to newer stuff, the pages warped and bent from years of being turned and spilled on, but they all found what they were looking for. Stan was cackling and pointing to a Backstreet Boys song - "We have to sing that as a group please!" - and Beverly saw what she wanted and scribbled it down on her slip, her right hand hiding it away from Richie's prying eyes. He already knew what he wanted Eddie to sing and he used the shorter boy's back to write it down in his spiraling hand as soon as he grabbed up a slip and pen.

"It better not be something stupid, Rich, I swear to god."

"No promises, Spaghetti."

Mike and Stan were whispering and pointing over Bill and Audra's shoulders at the book, discussing the song choices. Once they all got their slips handed in, Richie had already finished his first beer. Stan followed him to the bar to top off his own drink. When the bartender nodded at Richie, he held up two fingers and the girl nodded, reaching below to grab two more beers, popping the caps off of both of them. He handed her a crumpled twenty dollar bill and waved her hand to signify to keep the change. He took them both up in his hands and started with the first, downing half of it in one fell swoop. Stan watched him and fiddled with the straw in his own drink.

"You okay, Richie?" He asked, his voice cutting through the sound. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a little beer dribbling out the corner of his mouth. He used the back of his hand to wipe it away.

"Yeah, why?" He was starting to feel more drunk, nearly five in, his inhibitions significantly lower than they were earlier today.

Stan shrugged. "I dunno man, you just seem far away tonight."

Richie was watching Eddie talk to Ben, only half paying attention. "I'm no farther away than normal."

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Stan's voice was gentle.

Richie turned on him, beer sloshing around in his stomach. "You know you can talk to me right, Stan?"

Stan fell back a bit, his eyes going quickly to Mike, who was talking to Audra. He blushed deeply and looked at his drink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"What is that they say in Stranger Things? 'Friends don't lie.'" Richie wasn't angry, but his voice had a bite to it.

"I have nothing to lie about." Stan said.

Richie smirked at him, but it wasn't a real smile. He watched Mike for a second and then turned his eyes to Eddie. "I'll start talking to you when you start talking to me." With that he walked away to join the rest of the group, leaving Stan at the bar open mouthed.

If something was going on with Stan and Mike, why wouldn't he tell him, Richie wondered. Didn't they tell each other everything? But as he came up next to Eddie, whose name was being called by the sound booth guy, he knew that wasn't true. And that made him sad.

Eddie took the stage, pulling the mic stand down to his level and watching the screen above his head to see what he was singing. He waved to the others, who had all pulled up directly in front of the stage and they whooped and hollered.

Richie was staring hard at him, waiting. When the name presumably came up on the television, Eddie glared down at him, the microphone wire wrapped around his hand. He pulled it to his mouth and said, "Fuck you, Tozier." But he was smiling huge.

The others were laughing and raising their drinks up as Eddie started _The Bad Touch_ by Bloodhound Gang. He did pretty damn well and Richie finished one of his drinks while watching, smiling and singing along slightly. When he was finished they all cheered, some others in the bar doing so as well. Eddie came off the stage and took his gin and tonic from Bill, who clapped him on the back.

Next went Stan, Audra had picked out a Twenty One Pilots number for him perfectly enough. Then Bill went, singing a lovely - Audra's words - rendition of _Don't You Want Me_ by The Human League. He was blushing like crazy the whole time, pointing at Audra while he sang, who covered her face embarrassed. When he came down offstage, someone new was called up and the group took it as the perfect opportunity to refill their drinks and for Beverly and Richie to grab a cigarette. By now, Richie had finished his seventh or eighth, he couldn't be quite sure, beer and was working on the next, his feet working on autopilot. Beverly grabbed his arm as he tripped slightly over the rise separating the inside from the smoke porch.

"Jesus, babes, you good?" She said, her drink spilling a little as she caught him. He brushed her off and took a sip of his own. He wasn't okay but he was going to keep pretending he was. Eddie just looked so fucking good. He had passed the not too drunk not too sober section of the evening he had been hoping to utilize and had headed straight on to bordering on sloppy. He had lost his chance. Might as well enjoy himself.

"Yeah I'm great! Stan's probably mad at me, Eddie looks hot as shit, and I'm having a good time regardless. Not sure what's going on with me." He lit his cigarette shakily and let the smoke hit his head, cooling the thin sheen of sweat that had beaded up there.

She rubbed his arm. "I doubt Stan is mad at you. But maybe you should slow down on the drinks. I think you're coming up next."

He nodded and pulled out his phone to look at the time. Somehow two hours had passed and it was coming up on 12:45.

He exhaled and flipped his hair away from his glasses. "What song did you pick?"

She smiled and shook her head. "That's for me to know and you to find out, Richard my boy."

They finished their cigarettes and went back inside. Eddie came up to him and took him carefully by the arm. "Ready to buy me that drink?" Richie felt the burning in his cheeks and all he could do was nod. Eddie took his hand - fire on fire on fire - and pulled him to the bar. The bartender recognized Richie at this point and pulled out his beer before he could even say what he wanted. Eddie raised his eyebrow at him and told the girl, "Gin and tonic, please," leaning over the bar a little. Richie watched the curve of his back and for a split second he wondered what it looked like naked. He shook the thought out of his mind and gave the bartender another twenty. He hadn't remembered bringing so much cash but here he was with plenty of money.

"Thank you," Eddie said. "But I'm still mad at you for that song."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Please, you fucking killed it and you know you got all the fellas hot and bothered."

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "I doubt I impressed anyone in particular."

Richie let his hand brush up against his arm. "You impressed me." His voice was quiet and he was surprised that he actually heard him. He looked up at him under heavy eyelashes.

"Up next is Richie Tozier, singing a "secret" song chosen by his BFF, Beaver-ly." The DJ said over the loud speakers. Richie looked up at the stage where the others were standing, waving him over. He was panting a little and looked back at Eddie. Maybe he could do it after all.

"Stay here, I'll come back right after I'm done."

"Okay." Eddie was smiling, such a huge bright smile. Goddamn.

Richie rushed up to the stage, his heart pounding. He pushed through them all, Beverly and Ben at the front, flanked by Mike and Stan and then Audra with Bill's arm wrapped around her waist. Richie set his beer down on the stool they provided and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He was nervous - which was weird to him because he'd sang on stage a million times. But he knew what it was, deep down. It was because Eddie was watching.

The screen blared blue with a pixelated logo of a bird above him and then the title appeared and music started pumping out the speakers. _Ballroom Blitz_ by Sweet. He laughed and cocked his head at Beverly. "You beautiful bitch!" He said to her and she shrugged, already beginning to tap her feet to the beat.

He wrapped the cord around his hand and nodded to the beat.

He pointed at them each as he called them. " _Are you ready, Stan_?" Stan nodded. " _Eddie_?" He winked at him and Eddie waved. " _Mike_?" Mike mouthed the response, "Okay!"

" _Alright fellas, let's go!"_ He was already in his element, Brian Connolly incarnate onstage.

The others were screaming, clapping and cheering for him just below the stage.

He flipped his hair out of his eyes again and brought the mic to his mouth, his lips pressing too closely to the rough head.

" _Oh it's been getting so hard_ ," he grabbed his crotch. " _Living with the things you do to me_." He threw his head back and laughed.

" _My dreams are getting so strange, I'd like to tell you everything I see."_

He pointed to Eddie sitting on the barstool, nodding along with his singing. " _Oh_ _, I see a man in the back, as a matter of fact and his eyes are as red as a sun_ ," he pointed next at Audra, who pulled her hand to her chest and laughed. " _And a girl in the corner, let no one ignore her 'cause she thinks she's the passionate one! Oh, yeah_!"

He was sweating, his hair starting to stick to his forehead and he was filling with excitement.

_"_ _It was like lightening, everybody was frightening, and the music was soothing, and they all started grooving! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah_!" He threw his head back, leaning backwards as he pulled the mic above him, his voice hitting an almost ridiculous high pitch. He turned back down to face his friends, who were singing along.

" _And the man in the back said "Everyone attack!" And it turned into a ballroom blitz! And the girl in the corner said, "Boy I wanna warn ya, it'll turn into a ballroom blitz!" Ballroom blitz! Ballroom blitz_!"

He looked up and searched the bar for Eddie again, having suddenly lost him. But when he found him, his chest seized up. Someone was talking to him, a guy. A tall blond guy who was leaning on the bar and Eddie was smiling up at him, his drink sitting coldly in his hand. A low growl filled Richie's chest, a hollow sinking feeling much like embarrassment and anger had smashed together. The raging green monster.

" _Ballroom blitz_..." but he couldn't sing the next line. The backup singers on the tape did it for him - "... _ballroom blitz..."_ \- and Beverly followed his line of sight to the bar, worry taking over her face.

As the chorus ended, Richie took a hard drink of his beer, spilling some of it on his shirt and he unwrapped the microphone from his hand and set it in the stand, not taking his eyes from Eddie. It was a dead end stare, and for a moment the rest of the bar faded away, and all he could see was this fucking guy - this fucking asshole - talking to Eddie, leaning in closer and closer.

" _Oh, reaching out for something, touching nothing's all I ever do_ ," maybe if he closed his eyes he wouldn't see it, wouldn't think about it, " _Oh, I softly call you over, when you appear there's nothing left of you. Uh-huh_ ," but there they were, still talking, still so fucking close, he looked at Beverly, his arms outstretched, " _Now the man in the back is ready to crack as he raises his hands to the sky, and the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner she could kill you with a wink of her eye_ ," he winked at her and she tried to smile but she knew, oh she knew.

" _Oh, yeah, it was electric_ ," The guy had his mouth pressed right up against Eddie's ear, " _So frantically hectic,"_ Eddie was smiling and giggling, " _And the band started leaving_ ," the guy - this fucking guy - put his hand on Eddie's leg, "' _Cause they all stopped breathing! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"_ He felt like he was going to vomit right there on stage, the overhead lights and flashing strobes suddenly too much but this guy, goddammit this fucking guy. Just push it down, Richie, just leave it alone.

" _And the man in the back said, "Everyone attack!" And it turned into a ballroom blitz! And the girl in the corner said, "Boy I wanna warn ya it'll turn into a ballroom blitz!" Ballroom blitz_!"

He opened his eyes and looked and that was it. This guy's hand was sliding up Eddie's thigh now, and Richie felt his feet hit the concrete floor. He was walking towards them.

"Richie where are you going?" He heard Beverly cry.

"I'm taking a powder!" He replied, suddenly the code going right out the window. He couldn't stop watching them, but Bev was right behind him, trying to grab his arm.

"You're in the middle of a song -"

"Finish it for me!" He pushed past some jock types who were chattering on loudly but in a language he didn't seem to recognize. The music was still playing overhead - the DJ hadn't noticed he'd left the stage.

As he came up on them Eddie's face fell a little - disappointment.

"Hey!" Richie said, not to him but the guy, who pulled his hand back, a Bud Light bottle in his right hand.

"Richie, hey -" Eddie's voice was quiet but Richie wasn't listening. He could feel the steam curling out of his ears.

"You're talking to my fucking boyfriend." Richie said, his nose reaching the guy's forehead and he didn't know why he'd said that, boyfriend. He wasn't speaking for himself anymore it seemed.

"Boyfriend?" Eddie said.

"Your fucking boyfriend, eh?" The guy's voice was so fucking grating it made Richie's teeth grind together.

"Yeah, so I'd appreciate it if you keep your fucking hands off of him." He tried to press himself defensively into Eddie's legs, but he lost his balance a little.

The guy laughed and wrapped his arm around Eddie - who looked suddenly lost in confusion. "Well me and your boyfriend were just talking about him coming over to my place. So later on tonight, when he's sucking my cock, I hope you're thinking real hard about who your fucking boyfriend is." His face was so smug, Richie could feel his hand curl into a fist. Eddie was saying something like, "Hey," or "What the fuck," but it was all white noise.

He laughed himself. "You better watch your fucking mouth or I'm gonna put you in the hospital." He could hear, dimly, the swell of the next chorus coming. He felt someone come up beside him, Mike or Ben maybe.

The guy stood stock still. "You ain't gonna do fucking shit." He raised his eyebrows. An invitation.

Richie laughed and wiped the corners of his mouth. And then it happened. It was like slow motion for a second.

He pulled his fist back, and socked the guy right in the nose. It was a crooked punch but it connected well enough, blood pouring from his nostrils. He heard his name called, "Richie!" Beverly's voice.

The guy stumbled back, dropping his beer and it shattered on the floor. He was laughing a little and looking at the black-red blood on his hand. Music still boomed overhead. Richie was shaking. Suddenly there were six other guys behind him, all varying sizes and shapes, patting their friend on the back, faces angry and concerned. And then the guy came back, giving Richie a quick right fist to the jaw.

Then all hell broke loose. One of the friends grabbed Ben, who had appeared at Richie's side, Mike was pushing a guy twice his size - somehow - and ripping another off of Eddie, who had started throwing punches at the guy on top of Richie. Bill had pushed Audra back, and he and Stan were in the thick of it, hitting and swinging at one of the guy's friends. Beverly was in there too, hitting some dude who had taken the time to kick Richie while he was down, each blow knocking every ounce of air from his lungs. He could feel broken glass and foamy beer soaking his shirt, cutting up his skin. The guy was on top of him, leaning all of his weight on his chest, swinging and connecting every fucking time, but Rich was getting some good licks in too. He was fairly certain he had knocked one of the guy's teeth out because now his mouth was coursing blood, as was Richie's. He had bit his tongue pretty hard. Suddenly, someone was lifting the blond off of him, and he got in once last kick to the groin and he was too peeled off the floor. Stan.

"Let's go! Richie let's go they're gonna call the cops!" Stan was right in his face and he kept lunging to get past him, to get in one last hit before he'd call it quits. Eddie grabbed his arm and started pulling him, out past the bar to the back door, and the eight of them spilled into the alley.

Audra was curled up against Bill, trembling. Ben was checking over Beverly, a small cut on her left cheek, and she brushed him off, pulling a cigarette from her pocket with shaking hands and pushing it to her mouth. Mike and Stan were pressing their hands into each other's arms, assessing any damage. Richie was bent over, clutching his ribs where the guy had kicked him repeatedly. It would definitely bruise.

"What the fuck was that, Richie?" Eddie screamed, pushing against his chest with such a force that it caught him off guard and he nearly stumbled to the ground. He spit a mouthful of blood on the asphalt and pulled his glasses off, well, one half of his glasses off, they had snapped in two and the left side was missing.

"What are you talking about?" He replied, running his split tongue over his teeth, counting them. All accounted for, thank god. He was mentally checking Eddie over for any cuts or bruises. His hair was more messed than normal, and aside from a small cut on his lip, he looked fine, though there was a splattering of blood across the chest of his white shirt. Richie had a feeling it was his.

"I'm talking about that! What the fuck did you do that for?" His voice was raised over the din of the city streets and the pulsating music from inside. They had continued like nothing happened.

Richie shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of blood. He could feel it oozing out the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away. He was trying to think of a way - any way - to put it. His mind was swimming and warping.

"Nothing, I just didn't like the way that guy was touching you." He was starting to come down, the adrenaline dissipating.

Eddie scoffed. "I can handle myself, thank you very much. And what does it matter if he was touching me?"

"Did you hear the shit he was saying about you?" Richie said, his voice going up a little. He didn't want to yell at him. He didn't want to yell at him he didn't want to.

"Richie you say stuff to me like that all the time!" Eddie came back. Mike came up and put a hand on his shoulder and Eddie shoved him off.

Richie was smiling, teeth red, and shaking his head. "Naw, I've never been nasty like that to you. Everything I've said has been a fucking joke."

Eddie sighed and threw his hands in the air, defeated. "Why does it even matter that he was touching me, Richie."

Suddenly the air was heavy and far away there was the ringing of police sirens. Richie opened his mouth to speak, to say a thousand things but he couldn't. Instead he only replied, in a quiet voice. "I just know you don't like strangers touching you."

Eddie took a step toward him. It was cautious and his face was soft and caring again. "Richie," He said, reaching out to touch his arm. "That sort of thing hasn't bothered me for a while."

He pulled away. "I'm sorry, Eddie." The sirens were closer. He looked up to catch reflecting blue and red lights bouncing off the brick building at the end of the alley.

Beverly came up and put a hand on his shoulder tentatively. "Rich, call a cab. Get out of here. We'll handle this."

He turned to her and she smiled sweetly at him. Ben behind her nodded. "Don't worry man, we got you."

Richie nodded too and turned to stalk the opposite direction of the police. Eddie grabbed his arm with gentle fingertips.

"No, Richie, I'll come with you, please." His voice was small and Richie could feel pricks of tears coming up behind his eyes, one of which was starting to swell closed.

"No it's okay. 'm sorry, I just... I'm sorry." He couldn't look at him anymore. He turned to Beverly. "I'll see you at home."

Stan and Mike came up behind him again, slowly. "We'll go with you man." Mike said. Richie nodded and they started out the end of the alley again.

Richie wiped the blood and tears away from his eyes, throwing the remnants of his glasses into a pile of garbage out behind the bar. It was over, it was all over now.

Everything he'd wanted was over now. And it was his own fucking fault. He was such a goddamn idiot.

"Richie!" He heard Eddie call, but he didn't turn. He just kept going, Mike and Stan's footsteps echoing behind his and they walked into the road, hailing a bright yellow taxi.


	5. Beverly Marsh Gives a Whuppin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that took a year to write!! Thanks for sticking with me y'all, hope you enjoy it!!

She watched them as they were swallowed by the alleyway, her ears ringing. She was completely enveloped by an overwhelming sadness, mixing and churning with a burning heat that made her feel like she was going to throw up.

Eddie crossed his arms tightly across his chest, shivering. She was pressed in closely to Ben, who was rubbing the sides of her bare arms in comfort. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her body not eight minutes ago was starting to dissipate and her head began to pound.

“I knew it, I knew something like this would happen, Ben.” She said, pulling the cigarette to her cherry red lips. She shook her head, looking at the place where the boys had disappeared.

She shifted on her feet, letting her eyes drift over Eddie’s face. He was looking at her, blinking hard, his mouth slightly ajar. There was a line across the middle of his forehead, like he was trying to read the emotions on her face. She couldn’t keep his eyes, and looked back at the ground. He stalked over to her, pulling on her arm to make her face him. His fingers dug in just a little and she hissed in pain. “What the fuck is going on, Beverly? Why did he pull that shit in there?” 

She couldn’t look directly at him, a multitude of emotions rolling through her – fear, embarrassment, sadness, and under all of that, frustration. How could he not have any idea? Had he not been paying attention? 

“Beverly, what is going on!” He said, moving his face with her eye movements to try and catch her. She looked at the sky, sucking her lips in between her teeth.

“Come on, Eddie, let’s relax for a second –” It was Bill, resting a hand against his shoulder. He jerked away and pulled his arms out at her. 

“Tell me!” 

She sighed and looked at Ben, who shrugged. She tried to smile, but it was thin, prude. She licked the top row of her teeth, bit the inside of her cheek. “Are you serious, Eddie? She blinked slowly, tapping her foot to some unheard rhythm.

She was the same height as Eddie - a whopping five foot four - but right now she seemed to tower over him. Maybe it was because he flinched back slightly at the cold look in her eyes. She could feel it there. Then he huffed and brought himself practically on his tiptoes. “What?” 

She ran a hand through her hair and slapped her palms against her thighs. “Jesus, Kaspbrak, open your eyes! Do you really not see what’s going on?”

He faltered a little then, she could tell that her words were sharp. Maybe he was afraid if he admitted to her that he thought Richie was being jealous that perhaps she’d laugh in his face and deny it, say something like, “Eddie what does he have to be jealous for? He doesn’t want you like that, what would possibly make you think that was the case?” She just wished he would get his fucking shit together. She was tired of watching her best friend struggle, not because he deserved everything he wanted but because he deserved to know whether Eddie wanted him. It wasn’t that Richie couldn’t handle rejection. But Beverly was tired of watching Richie love him. It was just hurting him now. And that made her mad.

“Please, tell me what is going on, because clearly I am fucking blind, Marsh.” He spat her last name with disdain. 

Ben moved to take a step in front of her and opened his mouth like he had something to say, but the look Eddie shot him, brow pulled down, eyes dark and hard and unwavering, made him close it up quick. She turned in place, a small hurting laugh falling from her mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Ed. You can’t see how he feels about you?”

He blinked at her. “What is there to see, Beverly? Because he hasn’t said shit to me about “feelings”.” He used his fingers to put air quotes around the word. 

Beverly shook her head sadly. “Then you’re an idiot.” She hoped it hurt. She was too pissed to care. She could feel everyone else’s eyes on her, Audra’s with tears brimming, Bill’s confused, Ben’s warning her. 

He made a scoffing sound, took a step back, and said, “Fuck you, Beverly.”

Bev couldn’t do anything but laugh but it threw her off. They’d said ‘fuck you’ jokingly before, but never with such spite. Never with such palpable hatred dripping off the words.

“Whoa hey!” Ben said, putting his fingers lightly to Eddie’s chest. Bev reached out to put a gentle hand on Ben’s arm, trying to reassure him. She knew that Ben wouldn’t hurt Eddie, but she didn’t want him to say something he’d regret, too.

“Eddie, calm down,” Bill said, coming around Eddie’s left side with Audra’s hand interlocked with his. She had this look on her face like she was seeing a ghost.

“No, fuck you too.” He pushed Ben’s hand away in a quick slap and glared at Bill. He fell back a little. Bev’s chest was buzzing. She hadn’t felt this way in her life, all twitched up with a thousand things running through her head, a budding hatred for Eddie and she just wanted to leave the situation.

Eddie started away from them, turning on his heel in the opposite direction that Richie, Stan, and Mike went. Bill made a sound in the back of his throat like he was going to holler, but then he didn’t, he just opened and closed his mouth multiple times.

“Eddie!” Ben, his voice stern but caring. He looked from Eddie’s growing shadow to Beverly and back. “It’s 30 blocks!”

“I don’t care!” He shouted over his shoulder. Beverly sighed. 

“Eddie, please!” Audra called.

“Just let him go,” Beverly said defeated. 

Eddie didn’t turn around. He got to the corner where the alley met the street and turned towards home. Beverly took one more hard drag off her cigarette, noticing offhand that her hand was trembling. They watched him disappear, and Beverly spit on the asphalt.

 

It was barely three am, but Beverly hadn’t slept yet. She rolled over, nuzzling into Ben, who was snoring softly beside her. His calf was pressed against her knee, not deliberately but sternly enough. He had always done that, when they began to sleep next to one another. Even when they were teenagers and took group naps, he would find some way to be touching her. A finger against her stomach, tips of his toes pressed to the soles of her feet, nose resting in her hair. He also did this with Mike, but it was different with her, and they had all known it. She wished she was comfortable enough for sleep now.

The journey home had been…unrecognizable. Richie had gone off with Mike and Stan, and then Eddie had stormed off after. The ride home with the two couples was quiet, uneasy. Audra hadn’t spoken until they pulled up to the house, as if she had been in a state of shock.

“Should we…” and then she had trailed off. Beverly knew what she meant though. Should they go check on Richie. No one had responded, they’d just gone off to bed. Ben didn’t even try to speak to her until they were already in bed.

“You thought this might happen?”

She hadn’t responded and he took that as a yes.

And that had been three days ago. The house was practically an active minefield. No one was too loud, no one spoke, or laughed if they could avoid it. People came and went, to work, to Bassey Park, to…wherever. Just to avoid the stale air that had gathered in the thick of the house at 29 Neibolt. There were a few times where groups of them met in the kitchen or the living room, but it was usually on Bev and Mike and Stan, or Stan and Bill and Mike. When Audra had gone home, all of them had met in the foyer in a quiet, almost somber, like in the entrance of a wake, and said their solemn goodbyes. All except Eddie and Richie.

Richie hadn’t even come home that first night. Mike and Beverly had whispered about it in the kitchen the day after – “Well, where is he?”, “I don’t know, he ditched me and Stan on Upmile.” – and thank god he had come home that afternoon. But he had bounded straight up to his room, locked the door, and not answered. 

And Eddie. He was a whole different issue. Beverly didn’t want to press with him. She knew Richie needed a certain level of pushing but Eddie…if you pushed him too much he was liable to snap. The ‘fuck you’ had been almost as bad as a slap in the face, she figured, because now he stewed about the house, leaving whenever anyone came in, a perpetually sad look on his face. It was starting to annoy Beverly how upset she was about it.

She pressed her mouth against the hot skin of Ben’s shoulder, breathing him in. He stirred briefly, rolled over so that his back was to her chest. She let her fingers trace over the freckles on his back, listening to the sound of the end of summer breeze as it rustled through the backend streets outside. 

She wasn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon. That was clear now. She huffed and slowly slid out from under the sheets, tucking them in carefully around Ben, who had his hands curled up under his chin, a sleeping child. 

From the floor she grabbed up a shirt and pulled it over her head, going to the door and slipping into the hallway. From under Richie’s door, Everybody Hurts was playing quietly, its sickly depressing melody making Beverly’s heart sink in her chest. She was thinking of trying to go in…but she wasn’t even one hundred percent sure he was in there. She tiptoed down the hall, her feet barely touching the stairs as she took them.

Light was peeking out from the kitchen, and Bev slowed on the stairs, leaning over the banister. There was someone in there, milling about, but she couldn’t tell who it was from here.

As she approached the doorway, she caught sight of a mop of black hair, a black pot on the stove, the smell of burning water in the air. Richie was standing shirtless at the stove, his glasses fogging up from the macaroni noodles cooking in front of him. In one hand he held a wooden spoon, in the other was the macaroni box, which he was inspecting closely. Beverly stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, her shirt barely coming down past the bottoms of her boyshorts. He didn’t notice her standing there, his primary focus on stirring and reading. His face looked puffy, like he hadn’t slept much lately. Or like he’d been crying.

“Um, Rich?” She whispered, but he still jumped anyway, turning to her. At first it was like he didn’t recognize her, his eyes narrowed at her with confusion written on his face. Then he turned back to the pot, stirring it once more.

“You gonna talk to me?” She asked, another whisper. 

He picked up the pot by its handle, walked to the sink and poured it out, presumably into a colander. Then he just stood there, the pot poised over the sink. His shoulders were heaving with heavy breaths and Beverly just watched him.

“Richie?”

He set the pot on the counter, rested his hands on the edge. She watched him do this, her heart pounding. His shoulders were heaving more, but this time it was a different motion. He was crying.

She went carefully across the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his middle, listened to the sniffling chokes of his crying, pressed her cheek against his back. She closed her eyes and willed it away, willed all the pain away, out of him. She felt every sob, every tear, let it hit her heart and fly away. That’s how it was for them. Always. Their pain was one pain, their anger was one anger, their love was one love. 

They stood there for five minutes, as Richie’s crying slowly subsided and he just started sniffling and then he wiped his nose on with the back of his wrist against the black bandana there. She let go and took a step back, wiping her eyes quickly. He turned, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“I haven’t slept in like two days.” He said with a soft chuckle. 

She nodded. “Me either.” 

“Have any cigarettes?” He asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

She shook her head and laughed. “I was hoping you might.” She wrung her hands together. “Do you want to talk about it all?”

He looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I was an idiot.”

She didn’t reply. She just waited for him to continue. He put his glasses back on and looked at his hands. They were shaking.

“I just… I just fucked up, you know? People around me are always thinking, oh wow, he’s so fucking crazy he does dumb stupid shit all the time. This is no different. And, and people always think I’m just out having a good time and I don’t think about what I do and how it affects others, but… all I can think about now is how I fucked up everything with Eds. Like…” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t tell him how I feel because it doesn’t justify what I did. I tried to put ownership on him and that’s not what this is about. He can’t be owned. He deserves the world, not this…mess. And I ruined our friendship in the process, you know? Like, now all I can think about is the fact that I can’t even go mess with him, or listen to music with him because we’re not speaking.”

Bev nodded slowly. “It’s only been a few days, Rich.”

He shrugged. “That’s not the point. This was bigger than, oh I don’t know, the time I broke into his house while he and his mom were on vacation and put all of his stuff in jello.”

“Yeah, but we all helped you with that.” Beverly tried to joke.

“You know what I mean, Bev.” He shook his head. “This was me, pretending he belonged to me and then not even telling him why I was being such a dick. This was me thinking that he had feelings for me and letting it blow way out of proportion. This was me, literally shattering my knuckles against any chance I had with him, now or ever.”

“You didn’t really break your knuckles.”

He paused, sighed. “No, but they really fucking hurt.”

They stood again in silence for a few moments, the whisper of their breathing the only sound.

“Maybe you should try to talk to him.” Bev said.

“I mean,” Richie started. “Have you talked to him?” 

Bev made a face, pulling her lips back to show her teeth a little. “We uh, kind of got in a fight after you left.” Richie nodded like he was mulling this information over.

“Yeah I kind of got into it with Stan and Mikey a little too.”

Bev sighed. “Great friends we are, huh?”

Richie tried to crack a smile, but it faltered. “This all would have been so much better if I could just stop finding tiny people so attractive.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s your love of tiny humans that has this all fucked up, and not just that sometimes we don’t know how to use our words.”

Rich snorted. “Yeah, whose fault is that?” 

“Probably the men who raised us.” The words were heavy. And too true. More silence.

“I uh, should probably finish my mac and cheese.” Richie said, nodding to his noodles which were getting cold in the sink. Bev agreed.

“Will you try to talk to him? Do you think?” She asked, her voice only mostly hopeful.

Richie sighed, setting the colander back down for a minute.

“I just…need time, Bev. Time to fix my own shit before fucking anything else up.”

She nodded and watched him as he went back to the stove, fixed up his macaroni and she slipped out of the room. Her chest hurt. It was like her heart was breaking for Richie. For Eddie. For all of them.

 

Another week passed, September coming in quietly, residual summer heat filling the streets and the house. The Losers, well, not including Eddie or Richie fully yet, had gotten back into the habit of being around each other, eating together, watching television, the like. Richie would occasionally come and stand in the doorways of whatever room they were in, linger, not saying anything and then leave again. Eddie would just go straight to his room. Bev had a feeling he might be talking to Ben or even Stan, but she wasn’t on that very short list of people he was coming back to. 

They were all sitting in the kitchen, Mike having made breakfast for them – biscuits and gravy with hashbrowns – eating and laughing. Bev had her feet propped up on Bill’s knee, who was reading the newspaper, red pen poised in his mouth. Ben and Stan were discussing a movie that just came out, or something along those lines, as Mike plated biscuits. It was cool in the kitchen, a small blessing really, the lights over the stove on but the only other available light coming in from the kitchen and ajar back door. It made the sky seem gloomy, but it was only partly cloudy.

Bev’s phone started buzzing across the kitchen table, and she looked at it. Who the hell would be calling her? 

She pulled her feet down off Bill’s leg, leaned over the table, a slice of honeydew in her mouth. 

555-1078. She squinted at it. 555-1078? She didn’t know anyone with that number. “Anyone know 1078?” She asked, pointing the phone screen around the kitchen table at the others. They shook their heads.

“Probably a telemarketer or something. What’s the area code?” Stan said, looking down his nose at the screen like an old man who couldn’t see without his glasses. 

“I mean it’s a Derry number, I’ll just hang up if it’s a scam. Hello?” She swiped the screen, stood up and went outside into the backyard.

“Hello, is this Beverly Marsh?” A man’s voice on the other end said.

Her brow pulled down. “Uh, yea this is she. Who is this?”

There was a sigh, then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Um, Miss Marsh, this is James Rennie with Derry Retirement and Health?”

“I think you might have the wrong idea here man, I’m only 23. Not ready for retirement, thanks though.” She went to pull the phone away when his voice stopped her from doing so.

“No, no, I’m not calling to sell you anything, Miss Marsh. I’m calling about, well I’m calling about your father. Alvin Marsh?”

She stopped, her heart stopping in her chest for a moment. Her father? Jesus Christ, she hadn’t heard from him or even thought about him in… “My father? I um…” She looked toward the house, saw the dim outline of the boys sitting in the kitchen. “What about him?” 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to call and tell you this, but…your father had a stroke this morning, and he passed about an hour ago. I’m very sorry. We would like it if you could come in and maybe…” She couldn’t hear the rest. There was only a faint ringing in her ears. Her heart was beating too fast now – thump THUMP thump THUMP – and the back of her throat felt thick, she tried to swallow it away, instead it made a jump back into her mouth and she pulled the phone down to her side and went to the grass, tripped into it, throwing up what little breakfast she had had time to eat. Her mouth felt pasty and heavy, a burning on her throat and tongue and she threw up a second time, a cracking sob falling out of her. She gripped at the ground, her fingernails floundering into the dirt and pressed her forehead down against it, letting the still dewy grass wet her face. She held the phone tightly in her hand, Mr. Rennie still talking on the other end – “Miss Marsh? Are you still there?” – but she wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even crying, no tears, just that choking retching sound and gasping for air, her throat closing to a pinhole, much like Eddie’s would when he had an asthma attack as a kid. This felt worse.

She took a breath, the inside of her cheeks reminiscent of dead fish and hot trash. She spit the taste out, held the phone next to her ear, her hands shaking. “I’m, I’m sorry, uh, can I call you back later I um…I need to uh…” She didn’t even finish her sentence, just hit the red button signaling the end of the call. She let the phone tumble from her hands and sat with them folded in her lap, the breeze tousling her curls. 

She sat there for fifteen minutes, staring at the line of trees along the fence. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t feel her feet. Her head was swimming, buzzing and ringing, and she couldn’t focus on one singular thought. She just sat with her legs folded underneath her and let the wind lick her face. 

She wiped her eyes, though there were no tears there, rubbed her hands on her shirt and stood, pressing her palms into the ground and pushing up, and went to the door. Even taking the doorknob, her hands were still shaking, and she had trouble gripping it. But she finally got it and pushed in, stepping into the kitchen. The boys were laughing and eating like nothing was wrong. Nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t just been told the simultaneously worst and the best news a girl could hear. Bill pulled a fork from his mouth and smiled, nodding at something Stan said, then he caught her eye. 

He looked confused at first, turning his head slightly as he looked at her, took in the trail of vomit on her chin, the redness of her cheeks, her hands on her stomach. 

“Bev?” He said, and the others turned to look at her, their smiling faces fading.

It was the funniest thing in the world to her. All of their concerned looks. The whole situation. My god, she thought.

“My um…” She snorted a little. “My dad is dead.” She laughed again, a bark practically, and put a hand over her mouth. The laughter came heavier, and she started laughing hysterically, putting both hands on her face and leaning forward like the action hurt her stomach, and she just kept laughing. Why the fuck was she laughing? Her dad was dead. He was dead! Oh my god he’s fucking dead! 

“He’s dead, he’s fucking dead, I’m, I can’t believe it, he’s dead!” She was laughing so hard tears came to her eyes, and the boys just stared at her. Bill had set the paper down on the table, but his hands were still folded inside of it. Ben and Stan had turned so they were facing each other, Stan’s hand pressed lightly to his lips, Ben’s folded as if in contrition on his chin. The sight of them made her laugh harder, waving her hands as she tried to gather her words. Mike – oh my god Mike – he was wearing a ridiculous apron that Richie had got him for Christmas one year, it said ‘May I suggest the sausage’ with a huge arrow pointing down towards his crotch and had a spatula in his hand and Jesus this made Bev start choking with laughter, bracing herself on the countertop, her dirty hands sliding a little across the granite. 

She was leaning over it, her mind racing, that revolutionary phrase My father is dead sending her in another rolling fit of laughter. Ben slowly stood up, his hands out in front of him, his feet carefully one in front of the other and went to her. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine – hey, I’m fine, I’m ok, I’m fine, I promise I’m ok,” She was waving her own hands at him, if he touched her she would lose it she knew it, she was going to break, please don’t touch me, pleaseeeeee, Ben, don’t, and he hadn’t even put his hand on her arm when the words she was repeating – “I’m fine, I’m good, I’m ok, please I’m ok,” – started slurring and get higher in pitch and then she was sobbing, collapsing into Ben’s chest, and Stan and Bill stood too and they and Mike came over, wrapping around her and Ben like a group hug, and she felt cocooned, safe, held tightly as she cried, nearly twenty-five years of bullshit, coming out. 

He was finally dead. Good fucking riddance.

 

She was standing under the showerhead, letting the lukewarm water run over her. She’d been in here way too long; the water had stopped being comfortably hot five minutes ago. She didn’t care. She was numb.

She had gone to the hospice house, spoken to a nice woman named Ida or something, she hadn’t really been paying attention, just said, “Al Marsh is dead, he’s my dad,” and cleared her throat, looking anywhere but directly at Ida’s face. Some man had come out, she also ignored his name, but he looked like a doctor, what with his white coat and solemn looking face. He’d taken her to a room, a sterile room with a thick window that looked in on an operating room of some kind. 

This would have been when Ben would have really been needed, but Bev refused to let him in the building. 

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I don’t want you to go, I don’t. And I’m not going to fight with you about it.” She had been steadfast, looking out across the parking lot from behind Stan’s windshield. He had let them borrow it for the drive.

“Babe, you shouldn’t be alone. It’s not…” He was trying to plead gently with her, not push her. He had that tone in his voice, one she’d come to recognize and love because it was the kindest way anyone had ever argued with her. Everything he did was soft and loving. He was everything her father was not. Alive being one of those things now.

“I’m not going to break again, Ben,” she said quietly. “I promise. Please just let me go in, sign whatever paperwork they need signed and we’ll go home. We’ll watch something fun like Poltergeist or…I dunno.” She laughed through her nose, looked at her hands. The cuticles were all fucked up.

“Poltergeist? That’s what you’ll pick?” He chuckled quietly too, put his hand on her knee. She liked the weight of his hands, always had. When they were teenagers he had like a calming effect with just his hands. He could bring Eddie down from an asthma attack, Stan from a panic attack, Richie from being…well, Richie. His hands were a constant comfort, a nice change of pace from her father… 

She remembered once, the first time they had actually kissed, none of that preteen truth or dare shit, and she had flinched. They had been at the Aladdin, seen something about zombies, or maybe vampires, she couldn’t recall that now, and it hadn’t even really been a date. But they had left, hand-in-hand, into the crowd of people having left the movie and down the road to Ben’s car – it had been a Prius then, before he got proper balance for bikes – and he had stopped in the road. She had held fast to him, looked him over.

“You ok?” She said, coming in closer to him. He let go of her hand and put his own in his pockets. 

“Ben?” She said, her voice small. She had shoulder-length hair then, and she tried to tuck it behind her ear. 

In a second, he was reaching towards her face and she blinked fast and stepped away. “What the fu—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” he put his hands up and stepped back too.

It occurred to her then that maybe he had been trying to grab her face and kiss her. Butterflies had taken root in her abdomen and she smiled shyly. “No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t –”

“No, don’t apologize, I should have asked.” It was a back and forth apology for a few moments and then Bev giggled, stopping Ben in his tracks. He was panting, his cheeks burning.

“Were,” She paused, stepped towards him. “Were you going to kiss me, Ben Hanscom?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and coughed, looking at the ground, embarrassed. She watched his hands as they came back together. Those perfect, gentle hands. 

She took them in hers and looked up at him. He was already getting tall and she practically had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. 

It was then they had kissed for the first time. Languid. Loving. It was everything she had wanted of and deserved of a first kiss, and Ben Hanscom gave it to her. It was a relatively short moment and they hadn’t continued until the next weekend, but that first kiss. It had been too perfect.

It was her father who had nearly ruined it for her. Ruined a man’s hands for her forever. The fact that he would beat her. That’s all that could be said of it – beat her, nearly to death a few times, the way his rough palms would grip her arms and then backhand with the other. The way his fat, greasy fingers would rip at her hair, tearing it from her skull on more than one occasion, making her scalp bleed. His eyes were worse, she knew, but he had never put his hands on her…that way. She would have killed him and then herself and she thought he knew that. 

When she’d told him that she was going to live with her aunt she thought he might kill her then. He had punched her in the stomach and pushed her into the coffee table, and somehow she had gotten her phone open and called Richie, who had heard the sounds of her screaming on the other end, got the boys together and they had broken down the door, standing in the doorway taking in the scene of her father standing over her, his belt in his hand, her mouth bleeding, her left eye already swollen shut, sobbing on the ground with her shirt sleeve ripped and a bruise beginning to show on her arm. They had come in after her and him, punching and kicking her father with all the strength of six thirteen-year-old boys, and her father hadn’t really fought back, just screamed and pushed at them. 

Maybe he thought beating on little boys was beneath him as a human.

It didn’t matter though. She had got out and safe, but the way he had treated her before that…she was careful after that. Not that it mattered, she had only been with Ben. And he treated her like a queen.  
That’s what she thought of in those few seconds. How she sat in Stan’s car with the man who had perfect hands and was going to see a man who had terrible, rough, malice-filled hands. She didn’t want him to see her father. He didn’t need to see that.

In the end, he had stayed in the car, and she had gone in to see her father’s body alone.

The doctor guy – she couldn’t bring herself to remember his name – took her to this back room. Tapped on the glass. There was a younger looking man standing behind the glass, wearing glasses and a medical mask. He had on off-white latex gloves that looked straight out of a horror movie as he leaned over the body-shaped white sheet, pulled it back, revealed her dead father’s face. 

She inhaled deeply. It wasn’t as frightening as she anticipated. Some people liked to say that the dead looked like they were sleeping. That’s not what her father looked like. His face was pale and waxy, deep blue circles around his eyes. Her father had always slept sitting up, his mouth open, a beer in his hand. But that had been nearly ten years ago. Maybe things had changed. She doubted they had.

She hadn’t even known he was in hospice. He was only in his fifties, but apparently he had had a small stroke five years ago. Couldn’t do anything on his own. Had to have a nice, strong, male nurse take care of him. Bev was sure he loved that. And this second one had been bigger, killed him under a minute. She wished he had suffered longer. Or did she. She didn’t know for sure.

It was around the second minute of her staring at this creature that had been her father that she was prompted by the doctor about what she wanted to do.

“What do I want to do?” She asked. What a ludicrous question. Do? He was already dead, what more did she need to do?

“Did your father have a last will and testament?” The doctor asked. His voice was polite. Too polite. She wished he would add some bite to his tone, at least sound like this was annoying and he was becoming impatient with her. He had dealt with her father, right? 

She laughed a little. Probably an inappropriate thing to do in this situation, but she laughed all the same. “I haven’t lived with my father in ten years. I don’t know if he had anything…like that.” She cleared her throat. God, she needed a cigarette. She just wanted to go home. Never see that bastard’s face again.

“I see.” The doctor guy said. She felt bad for not knowing his name now. The doctor sounded all too formal. “He had you as his next of kin. We had no idea you were estranged.”

Bev laughed again. “Estranged. Interesting way to put it.”

The doctor waited. She wondered if he was always like this or if it was just with distressed family members of the dead. “We can set you up with a very professional funeral home. They can help you with all the arrangements, whether that be,” He paused, as if giving her a moment to prepare for what he was going to say. “Embalmment, or cremation.”

“Cremation.”

“Beg pardon?”

Bev gathered her jacket up more in her arms and pulled her purse over her shoulder, taking one last look at her father’s body. “Burn the bastard. Save everyone the misery.”

The drive home had been quiet, and the few minutes after before she had come up to the bathroom and got in the shower had been almost worse. 

Now that she was here, elbow pressed against the shower wall with the water coming down over her eyes and nose and mouth, she wondered if maybe she had made the right choice.

The water was like ice now and she sighed, turned the knobs to off. Air hit her skin and covered her in goosebumps, making her teeth chatter together. She stepped out of the shower, her naked skin soft and pink from the cold, and she covered up with a towel. The mirror wasn’t even foggy anymore and she looked at herself in the mirror. 

Even here she could see her father. The shape of his eyes, the angle of the bridge of her nose, bigger freckled ears that peeked out from too-thick hair. Her mother was there too, just the fire of her hair, really. But it had always been her father she’d seen. In photographs of them as babies, they could have been fraternal twins. If only that had been enough to make him keep his hands off her.

There was a soft knock at the door. She didn’t recognize it, Richie’s knock was easy to spot, it was very aggressive, Ben’s a little more reserved. Bill used the side of his fist but in a polite way, if banging on the door could be polite. Stan and Mike had nearly identical knocks, soft, made with the knuckles. But Eddie’s…

“Eddie?” She whispered, wrapping the towel around her more tightly. She could see the shuffling of a shadow underneath the door, but no one answered. She went to open it, and as soon as she put her hand on the doorknob, there was the receding of footsteps. She quickly opened the door, but the hallway was empty. A door closed a little loudly to her left and she turned to see Eddie’s door closing. She straightened up, sighed, went to her room.

 

It was going to be the worst day of her life. For a multitude of reasons. 

Bev’s father had apparently been sort of religious – which was hilarious to her – and a preacher had come by the hospice when she came to get her father’s ashes and recommended that her father get a small ceremony at the church in town. One where family and friends could bring potluck and pay their respects. She had no idea who the hell would want to waste their time coming to “pay respects” to one Alvin Marsh. He had no friends. Maybe a cousin somewhere up Bangor way. Her aunt wouldn’t come, so what would be the point. It wasn’t even that the preacher had been particularly persuasive, she mostly had just wanted him to show up. 

“It’ll be a celebration of life,” he had said to her. “A way to say goodbye to the things of the past.” She had scoffed at that. 

“Just cremate him and let us be done with this.” She said.

The preacher man had sighed. “Yes, we will do that. But maybe an hour-long wake, just to say goodbye?”

“Fine!” She had practically screamed at him. “If it means I can be done with this.” And she had stormed out. 

Ben came to stand behind her at the dresser, where she was fixing her purple lipstick in the mirror. She looked at him, wearing a black shirt with a blue tie and black jeans. He looked too handsome to be going to a wake. Especially one for her father. 

“This ok?” He asked, gesturing to himself.

She nodded in the mirror. “Absolutely. We’re not going to stay long. Maybe just long enough to see if anyone will bring food. Fifteen minutes, in and out.”

“We don’t have to go at all.”

“Yeah, but for some reason I feel like that preacher will cancel it until I fucking show or something.” She wiped the corner of her mouth one last time and turned to him.

“The guys are all downstairs. Richie’s smoking, I think.” Ben said, kissing her forehead.

Bev sighed. No Eddie, she guessed. She didn’t know what she expected honestly. Neither of them had tried to apologize to the other yet. Why did she think that he was just going to show up and things would be okay again?

“Well, then let’s get to it.” 

The day was perfectly gloomy. Cloudy, threatening rain. All the boys were dressed in what Bev would later call ‘funeral casual’ – jeans with a nice shirt. Stan and Richie had ties on. Mike’s collar looked like it had been ironed, probably Stan’s doing. They were all standing on the porch, talking in low whispers as Bev and Ben came out. 

“I’ll drive if you want.” Stan said, gently touching Beverly’s wrist. He had sorrow in his eyes, but she was sure it was just for the fact alone that she had to be doing this.

“Sure,” she replied. “We’ll take two cars. In case you guys want to dip out early.” 

“Not a chance,” Richie said. “We gotta keep your spirits up through it all.” 

Bev smiled at him, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, man.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, chickadee.” He said, ruffling her hair.

She shook her head to rearrange the curls, smiling at him. They started towards the cars, feeling the starting sprinkles of rain. The drive was going to be miserable. The whole thing was going to be miserable.

 

There were maybe 27 people there in total, but Beverly didn’t recognize any of them. The lot of them sat in the third pew, a long line of bored looking young adults, whispering amongst themselves. Richie sat on the end closest to the aisle, next to Bev, Ben, then Bill, Mike, and Stan. There were a few people on the opposite side of the aisle trying to get Beverly’s attention, but she didn’t want to talk to them. Her head was killing her. She just wanted this to be done.

“She’s in mourning, you understand.” Richie said, smiling a little too largely for anyone to be anything but suspicious. He trailed a finger down his cheek to signify crying, and Beverly snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. Richie pat her on the shoulder and she put her face in her hands, faking a sob. 

Ben patted her knee, saying, “There, there,” and she tried to choke back another laugh. 

Bill leaned over Ben and nudged something into her lap. She peeked through her fingers at a small metal flask. She leaned her head down and looked at Bill. He jabbed a thumb at Mike, who waved his hand at her, an adorable smile on his face. “Liquid courage.” He whispered, and Bev blew him a kiss. He caught it and smiled at Stan, who put his hand on his knee, then just as quickly pulled it away. 

Okay, Beverly thought. That’s what that is.

The preacher from the hospice walked up to the podium, next to a blown-up photo of her father when he was in high school. Where did they get that? Beverly sighed. May as well take advantage of this free drinking hour.

She leaned down as if praying and drank deeply, immediately coughing. It was straight whiskey, probably Wild Turkey. Jesus Christ, she thought, her eyes watering. She tried to hold in another cough, looking over at Mike who was covering his mouth to keep from laughing. Stan was biting the back of his hand and Bill had pulled his lips in between his teeth, also trying to swallow a laugh.

“You fucks.” Bev whispered hoarsely at them and she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. She took another sip, carefully this time, and leaned back in her seat, offering it to Richie, who took it graciously.

The preacher started them off with a sad, stupid little prayer about how Alvin Marsh was a good soul who was taken too soon. There was someone crying loudly behind Beverly and she looked over her shoulder to find the culprit. Who the fuck would be crying over her father? He had never been a good person. Just because you have a stroke and practically become a vegetable doesn’t erase years of shitty parenting. 

She and the boys kept taking sips off the flask as the preacher did a few readings, said a few things about her father that she had never heard before, talked about his love for God. All pointless things. Her father was dead. And if there was a God, he hadn’t done a very good job. Though, she supposed, if there was a God that meant there was a heaven. And if there was a heaven, there was a hell. And her father was surely burning in it right now.

About 30 minutes in, she had a pretty good buzz going. Her head was swimming and the boys were getting restless. She was barely paying attention, perhaps even on the verge of sleep.

“…his daughter Beverly.” The preacher said.

Her head snapped up, her mind clearing just briefly. Did he say her name? 

She looked around. The boys were in a state of disbelief, looking at the preacher and her. Everyone else in the church, however, had their eyes fixed clearly on her. 

“What?” She said.

The preacher smiled sadly and waved his hand in a ‘come here’ motion. “Wouldn’t you like to say a few words about your father?” He had this look on his face that she had seen a few times not only from her father but her teachers at school. You don’t have to do this, but if you don’t you’ll be in trouble. 

Her heart was starting to pick up again. The last thing she needed right now was to get up on stage and talk about her piece of shit father and be drunk while doing it. She looked at Richie who was rubbing his eyes under his glasses in exasperation, then at Ben and the others. Ben looked like he was going to be ill, Bill and Stan were looking at her apologetically. Mike just looked mad. 

But she knew if she didn’t stand up and talk, something was going to happen. Or maybe that was the whiskey talking. She stood up, her legs wobbly underneath her and she straightened the short dress she was wearing. She’d figured she would mostly be sitting or surrounded by the boys and wouldn’t have to worry about people judging her. Christ was she wrong. She hoped it wasn’t terribly obvious that she was drunk, or at least in the very beginning stages of it. She made her way up the stairs to the podium, stumbling a bit on the top stair. Jesus, she looked like a mess in front of all these strangers.

She shouldn’t care though, she didn’t even fucking know them. The preacher made a place for her and cleared his throat. Oh yea, he could definitely smell it on her. 

She looked at her hands. Was she supposed to have a speech prepared? This was such a fucked up situation. She wondered if maybe her father had requested she speak. One last fuck you.

“Um. My, um, father,” she looked pleadingly at her friends. They were all in various stages of disbelief and ‘I don’t know’ motions. She scanned the crowd a little. Maybe there were other people she recognized.

Nope. All a bunch of random faces with no importance to her. There was a budding headache behind her eyes and she rubbed at them, hoping to clear her head. No such luck. She did another quick scan, just in case.

Eddie was sat in the back of the congregation, granted only six pews deep, and there he was on the seventh one. He was focused on her and she wanted to cry at the sight of him. Happy tears. He had come. Regardless of their fighting.

Bless Eddie Kaspbrak. 

“My father was um. How do I put this delicately? He was not a good man.” Beverly straightened her back, looked out over the people. There was a general uncomfortable chatter, but she pushed on.

“He beat my mother and I until she couldn’t take it anymore and she left. She left me, a kid, with a man who liked to beat on girls.” The preacher was standing, straightening his tie. The boys were all staring at her in awe. Good.

“My father was not a good person and to have this ‘celebration of life’ like he deserved it is just sick,” The preacher was reaching for the microphone, but she pulled it off its stand and kept going, too in it now to stop. “He was a shit-spirited disgusting man who I hated. He deserved nothing but pain in life and I hope that’s all he gets in death. None of you knew him –” He was trying to jerk the microphone from her hand, but she just held on tighter. “If you knew him you wouldn’t be here celebrating his life, you would be spitting on his grave. If you knew the things he would –”

“That’s enough!” The microphone was wrenched from her hand and her voice fell quiet again. He clicked the microphone off, his face a burning scowl. “I think it might be best if you go. I’m sorry.” What was he sorry for? Kicking her out or hearing that he was a piece of shit? Beverly didn’t really care. She started down the stairs, watched the boys all stand in unison. Richie followed her down the aisle then one by one so did the others. Eddie also stood, and Beverly reached out and he took her hand, walking next to her. He looked over his shoulder briefly at Richie, who had stopped in his tracks for a moment and Bill urged him on. 

Beverly kept her head held high, her heart pounding, pushed the huge oaken doors open and out went out into the rain. The cold September sky thundered, and Beverly could have cried. It was over now. It was all over.

And thank fucking god for that.


	6. Eddie Kaspbrak Takes His Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie Kaspbrak sucks it up and swallows his pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter, I hope you all like it!

“ _So abruptly, saw death on a sunny snow,_ ” Eddie sat in the window, one leg dangling over the screenless pane, headphones plugged in tight to his ears. Rain poured outside, petrichor filling the room on the breeze. He leaned his head against the wall, breathed in deeply. The house was quiet, like it waited for the family to come home and slam into its doors and stomp on its floors and wake it up again. But everyone was out. He was alone with his thoughts.

“ _For every life, forgo the parable,_ ” It had been this way for a while now. Where he would just sit in his thoughts, contemplating everything that had ever happened to him. He mostly thought about the Losers, sometimes he thought about his mother.

He wondered about his father today, for the first time in a long time. He could hardly remember him. Why was that? 

“ _Seek the light, my knees are cold,_ ” Eddie wondered if he had been tall, of course he had been tall when he was a kid, right? When you’re a kid, everything is a towering skyscraper, everything is above your head, you’re looking up at everyone and everything. He felt like maybe he was growing again, his legs were cramping all the time. God, he hoped it were true anything would be better than this. He felt like a kid again.

How had his father and mother met? Had she always been the woman he dealt with on a daily basis? Or had she been soft, free, rebellious… Maybe his father had fallen in love with her because of the way her eyes sparkled when she saw something new and exciting, or the way she giggled reading her harlequin novels in the living room. Maybe she used to be fast, and strong, and lovely, but he couldn’t know. He’d never seen any photos of her from when she was younger.

“ _Running home, running home, running home, running home,_ ” Maybe his father had had a strong jawline that made his mother swoon. Maybe he was a fan of poetry and he would read to her as she took baths on Sunday nights. Maybe he like old foreign movies where he could read the subtitles to her through the scary parts, if there were any. Maybe they had been schoolchildren, passionate and in love and crazy.

He chewed on a fingernail – Bev would be proud – tried to peek around the corner of the house, see if anything was happening in the street. Nothing. It was completely empty.

Did his father…did he know about his son? Did he know that Eddie was gay? Did he care? Would he have been angry? Eddie liked to think that his dad would have supported him fully. He would have worn one of those ‘I love my gay son’ shirts, maybe he would have taken him to Pride in Bangor his freshman year of college. Eddie liked to think he’d be proud of him, regardless of who he was going to marry.

“ _Go find another love, to bring a, to string along,_ ” Would he help him through this fight? Or would he be disappointed by this petty shit that Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to apologize for. Would he be disappointed that his son had alienated his only friends over not being included in a conversation? He could imagine his father telling him that this was silly, they are your best friends, don’t push them away, don’t push them away like you do your mother and I, why don’t you come around more and –

“ _With all your lies, you’re still very lovable,_ ” And what did his dad know anyway? He didn’t understand them as people, how they warped and meshed together, how they were one solid mass of people who while all having different pieces of themselves, fit together like a broken vase? Did he know, did he even _care_ that they had been the only people to see him for who he truly was and now they were keeping secrets from him? And how was he allowed to have an opinion! He wasn’t even around anymore!

“ _I toured the light, so many foreign roads,_ ” Eddie pulled his leg back inside to let the blood rush back into his foot, tucked his chin on top of his knees, wrapping his arms around his shins.

And how was that his dad’s fault? Not being here… He had got sick. His mom…his mom said it was the worst thing she’d ever experienced. Watching him die. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and Eddie had never got to know him. 

He’d never been measured with a pencil against the wall as each birthday came and went. He’d never put on his dad’s shoes and had his photo taken because, he was such a big boy now! He had never worried to his father about his first day of kindergarten. Had his father ruffle his hair, tell him everything would be okay kiddo. He had never told his dad about his new friends I made a new friend today! His name is Bill! He talks funny! He had never waved at his dad as he “graduated” from the fifth grade, now with several friends, Richie and Bill and Stanley! 

“ _For Emma,_ ” He had never had his dad fix his tie as he went to the winter formal, he had never started worrying about whether or not his dad would find out he liked boys, he had never been able to come out to his dad, saying he was gay and he didn’t want him to hate him and he never got to hear whether or not his dad would support him, he never got to tell his dad about his first boyfriend, he never got to show off his tux that all of the boys were wearing, all matching, so they could go as Beverly’s dates to prom because prom was important dad and why weren’t you there! And graduation, you missed that too! You had to go and get sick and I never got to talk to you about the important shit and I’ll never even know what your face looks like aside from photographs of you holding me when I was a baby and I’ll never know what your voice sounds like and I’ll never get to grow up with a dad! You had to go and get sick and die and leave me with mom and she tried so hard, too hard, to be a good mom and it suffocated me and you weren’t there to calm her down and you _aren’t here!_

He inhaled, his breath catching. His eyes were starting to burn, and he hadn’t even noticed. How had he not noticed? 

He was sobbing, leaning against the wall and staring out the window, rain pouring down outside, and he was alone. The house was empty.

“ _Forever ago._ ”

 

It was October 1st. How was it already October? Eddie stared wide-awake at the ceiling, listening to the evenness of his breathing. Thunder grumbled softly over the city.

His phone buzzed across the bedside table. This had to be the third call. There were probably fifteen texts. Maybe four emails. He hadn’t used that email in years. He knew that if he just turned his phone off police would be on the front lawn in twenty minutes. That would be a riot, wouldn’t it?

He rolled onto his side, facing the table, watching as his phone slid a few more inches. He could answer it. But it was too early to subject himself to a migraine. 

9:37 the clock read. He supposed he should get up, mill about the house. But then he might run into the others. 

It had been a week and a half since Bev’s dad’s funeral and he still hadn’t apologized. Perhaps he was too stubborn.

Eddie figured he was just an asshole.

He’d tried to talk to Bev once, right after she got out of the shower. If he thought about it, he knew it was because she was naked and thus wouldn’t want to talk and then he still pussied out when she had in fact come to the door. He was such a coward sometimes.

Today. He had to try to fix things today. His phone began buzzing again, his mother’s large, overwhelming face appearing on the screen. Christ. 

He picked it up, hit the power button once to silence it. He could outright ignore it, but again – police. No thanks.

He sat up in bed, letting his legs dangle off the side, a yawn overcoming him. He stifled it with the back of his hand, slid off the bed and went to the dresser. Usually he would have been up a few hours before, but he’d been too…what? Depressed? He didn’t know for sure. Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed early, take regular showers – he was all over the place with it, in the morning, late at night, once at 2pm when Ben was doing laundry and the water was fluttering between ice cold and scalding hot – eating. Everything. Being in a “fight” with his best friends made it nearly impossible to function. 

He pulled on sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt. He flattened it down, caught sight of the design. It was a _Dead Kennedys_ ’ shirt – one of Richie’s. 

He fingered the hem, rolled the fabric across his fingerprints. There were a few little frayed holes towards the bottom, maybe from stray cigarette sparks. He stuck the tip of his pinky in one of them, breathed in deeply. It smelled like his laundry detergent, and underneath that, like him. Cigarettes and his shampoo and his smile and his eyes and…he pulled the neck up over his nose, closed his eyes, inhaled.

God. He missed him.

He opened his eyes, took in his dresser. It was a menagerie of the Losers. A borrowed book of poetry from Ben. A few bobby pins from Bev. A photograph of Mike and Bill, smiling in their graduation caps. A tiny statuette of a bird, a starling he thought, that Stan got him for his 17th birthday. An unused contacts case from Richie. How was it that his whole life had become completely consumed by these six other people? How is it that he could love six other people so fully? So heavily that his heart swelled to the point of bursting but still.

He turned away, feeling a lump grow in his throat. Out in the hall, he heard the far-off sound of Beverly and Ben’s door opening, then quiet footsteps down the hall to Stan’s room, the whispered click open of his door, a brief spill of voices and then two sets of steps down the hall once more. He peeked out, his eye catching little in the space.

The others had gathered in front of Richie’s door, whispering and gesturing amongst themselves. Mike was leaned against the door of his own room, Ben to his left. Stan and Beverly flanked Richie’s, with Bill in next to them. Occasionally one of them would glance in his direction and he’d wait for them to come over, tell him to come out and talk to them. But they didn’t. 

He huffed and opened the door, taking a deep breath, pulling his arms in tight around his middle. They all turned to look at him as he walked towards them, varying degrees of worry and confusion. 

He attempted to say hello when he came to the huddle, but the word caught in his throat. None of them looked angry with him, for that he was thankful, but Beverly looked uncomfortably at the ground. Of course, it had been nearly a month. 

“He’s been listening to it on repeat,” Mike said, running a hand over his hair. His voice was quiet. Eddie wanted to cry looking at him. _Everybody Hurts_ came muffled at them from underneath the door.  
“Just this same song?” He asked and they all nodded. “Since…everything?” Another nod.

He knew Richie liked the R.E.M. tune unironically, knew it was one of the few songs that could illicit real tears from him. It was because when his grandmother died his mother had listened to it on repeat as well, downing two bottles of Cabernet and crying in their kitchen. He had been six, watching his mother cry still made him lose control. And now he was listening to it on his own.

“Has anyone talked to him?” Eddie’s voice was a whimper.

“Have you talked to him?” Stan asked. His tone was cool but not rude. 

He shook his head. He looked at Beverly, who was chewing on her fingernail. She caught his eye under hooded lids and for a moment, Eddie thought there was guilt there.

“I talked to him, I thought he was going to be okay. Then the funeral and now…” She said.

“Should I try to?” He asked.

Beverly paused, inhaled. “If anyone could get him to go back to normal, it might be him,” she said. “We didn’t even try that hard.” She laughed gently, pushed air through her nostrils. She reached her hand out toward Eddie. He took it softly in his own.

“Can I talk to you first?” She asked him. 

He nodded. 

“Step with me, if you will, into my office.” She joked, and Ben opened the door for them, kissing her on the cheek as she passed. 

With the door closed behind them, Eddie didn’t even let her speak before sweeping her up into a tight hug. She allowed herself to be squeezed and returned the gesture. They stood there in silence for a very long time, letting the sound of the starting rain lull them into a safe solitude. Their mutual whispers of, “ _I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I know, I love you, I love you, I’m so, so sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you,_ ” filled the space between them, the air all whispers and the smell of rain from the open window. He breathed her in, her skin warm, like cinnamon and oranges. He wanted to wrap himself in that safe, warm scent, keep himself here in her arms, pretend like there wasn’t a whole world outside that was begging him to give up on everything. His friends…himself.

It was she that broke away, putting him at arm’s length and rubbing his shoulder. “Christ, Eddie,” She sniffled. Her smile was thin, sad. But genuine.

He wanted to cry, he was just glad they were going to be okay. Even with the silence, everything was going to be okay.

“Yeah,” he replied, and embraced her again, squeezing her tightly around the chest. “I feel like such a fucking asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole.” She said, rather strongly, and he nodded against the crook of her neck. 

“Thank you,” He said.

“I would die for you, Eddie Kaspbrak,” She said.

He inhaled, the breath hitching in his throat. “And I you, Beverly Marsh.”

There was more silence, the sound of a ticking clock somewhere in the room.

“Now what?” She finally whispered in his ear, her breath hot and cherry sweet. He closed his eyes.

“Let me talk to him. It’s time I stop being a little bitch.” He tried to laugh, but his butterflies were so bad he could barely swallow for fear of choking. 

What was he going to say? If Bev and Stan couldn’t get him to come out, would he just make it worse? Only action would tell.

“You’re not a bitch.” Beverly said. She said it with such authority that it was so. She took his hand, gave him a small kiss on the cheek, which caused his face to burn with such intensity he wondered if it would ever go back to normal. They went back into the hall. The others were standing whispering amongst themselves and quieted when they appeared.

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Could you guys, um, not stand here while I do it?”

There was a smattering of chuckles and nods. No one made any jokes. That was Richie’s job. 

They went down the hall, down the stairs, Bev turning with Ben’s hand in hers before she took them, giving him a hopeful look. He nodded at her, his breath shaking a little as he turned to the door.  
He pressed his knuckles against the wood in a rap, his chest tight. There was no answer, so he turned the doorknob, pushed his way in.

Richie’s room wasn’t its normal mess. Usually it would be clothes all over the floor, magazines thrown about the room, the window seat a mess of pop bottles, food wrappers, a dogeared novel that he might be reading for the fifth time. But now, curtains were closed but fluttering from the breeze, the desk and the floor spotless, aside from dust and cigarette ash. The radio on the bedside table played _Everybody Hurts_ quietly, giving the room a wake sad quality. The room had a slight haze of old smoke like he’d smoked in it a few hours ago and the window being opened had aired it out. 

His bed was a lump of blankets, and out from the bottom poked his feet. Eddie shuffled over to the edge of the bed, willing his heart to slow in his chest. He was so nervous he could taste it in his mouth, the tangy copper taste that came with bile and blood and he swallowed. 

On each of Richie’s long toes were tattoos that Eddie had never seen before and he leaned over to get a better look. It was a series of letters, not spelling a word, he noticed, and he squinted at them. On his right foot, _B, S, B,_ on his left, _M, E, B_. He blinked. _B, S, B, M, E, B_. They looked crudely done, like maybe he had done them himself, and recently too. Then it clicked. It was their initials. When had he done that? Eddie bit his lip, stifling a welling feeling in the back of his mind.

“I’m not ready yet.” Richie’s voice came muffled from beneath the covers and Eddie jumped, putting his hand to his chest, to calm himself. “I’m sorry Bev.” 

Eddie cleared his throat, wrung his hands together. “It’s me, Rich.”

There was a moment where he was sure Richie was trying to see if he was imagining Eddie’s presence. He waited for him to tell him to go away. He waited for any inclination of what Richie was going to do. He wanted him to peek his head out, so he could see that mess of hair, those deep swimming eyes behind glasses – maybe – he just wanted to talk to Richie. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to say a million things, all the things that had been on his mind for close to ten years now.

There was a tentative pulling down of the blankets and Eddie took a small step forward. First came the fluff of hair and then his thick eyebrows, and then his tired, sleep-driven eyes and then his nose, where the comforter stopped. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he was squinting hard up at Eddie and it made him feel exposed for a moment. He looked frustrated, but Eddie was sure it was just that he was blind. He tried to smile but it felt forced. He wasn’t sure if he should keep standing or sit down on the bed, so he stayed upright, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Hey.” Richie said, his voice small. Eddie couldn’t say he’d ever actually heard his voice that way. It frightened him.

“Hey.” They stood there, staring at each other, the wind and the rain and R.E.M. the only sounds in the room.

Richie pulled the blankets down past his chin, his fingers holding the top of the blanket in such a way that he could probably pull the blanket back up if he needed to. 

“How are you?” Eddie asked. What a stupid question. He knew how he was.

Richie raised his eyebrows and blinked slowly, reaching out and taking his glasses off the bedside table and putting them on. He looked Eddie dead in the face, reading him like an open book and Eddie couldn’t help but blush a little. He hoped the low lighting would make it difficult to tell. 

“How are _you?_ ” Richie replied, wiggling so he could sit up a little, but not letting the blanket come down past his chin. Eddie shrugged. He nodded in response, balled the blanket up under the scruff of his chin.

They waited there again, Eddie listening to the lyrics of the song while they watched one another. He wished he would say something, anything. The silence was making his chest hurt. This would be when, if he were still a kid, he’d take a hit off his inhaler. He had outgrown that, he thought. He stopped being a kid a long time ago. 

“You can sit down.” Richie said, his voice gruff. The tone of it made heat pool in Eddie’s stomach. The usual jokes and fun demeanor had gone out the window. Eddie hoped not forever.

He looked at the edge of the bed, where the blanket lay flat, tucked slightly under Richie’s legs. He nodded quickly, making the decision in that moment, and while he sat down, Richie sat up fully, letting the blanket fall to his waist. Eddie traced the tattoos on his torso with his eyes. He wondered what they felt like under the fingers now, years after they had healed completely, he wondered what Richie’s skin would feel like cupped up under his palms, under his own chest, against his skin, against his mouth, between his teeth – 

“So.” Eddie swallowed, tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. They were still there as he watched the rise and fall of Richie’s breathing. It was his voice that took him out of it.

“I uh,” Richie started. “I need to…”

“You don’t.” Eddie interrupted.

“I do.” Richie went to reach out, pulled back. It made Eddie’s heart sink. _Just touch me, Richie. Please._

“Okay.” He replied.

Richie sighed, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He pulled his lips in between his teeth, then looked up at the ceiling. He looked, Eddie thought, like he was holding back tears. _God. Please, you don’t deserve this, Richie._

“I’m so, so, so, so, _fucking_ sorry. I can’t…” Richie took a shaky breath. Eddie took one as well, his heart still racing. “I will _never_ forgive myself for acting that way. I just…”

“You don’t have to –”

“Please, I just…I want to. I need to. I ruined everything.”

Eddie had this overwhelming urge to take his hand and tell him it was okay, it was _okay, Richie._

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“It feels like I did. All because I was jealous.” Richie looked away, at the fluttering curtains, sniffled.

So, it was true. All the awkward interactions, the avoiding eyes, the way Richie’s hand traveled down his arm at the bar, fingertips light and shooting electricity through his skin. He was jealous. But jealous of that guy? Lawrence, he had told him. Richie had no reason to be jealous of Lawrence. 

Lawrence was a lost puppy. Richie was a wolf.

“Rich, you…you didn’t ruin anything. I swear to god. You had no reason to be…” He sighed. “You had no reason to be jealous. I promise. I shouldn’t have been an ass afterwards. You were drunk, and I was so fucking hyped on adrenaline and, and…”

Richie tried to smile. “It doesn’t excuse how I acted. We’re not high schoolers anymore where you can just beat the shit out of someone ‘cause they’re with ya mans.”

Eddie shook his head, laughing a little. “Richie.”

Richie put up his hands in surrender. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s been tough to make jokes lately.”

_Fuck it,_ Eddie thought. Why was he being such a baby about it? Just fucking do it. 

“Richie,” he reached out and took one of his hands. Both of their hands were too warm, a little sweaty, and there was that lightening again. It went in through his fingers and then his palms, up his arms and through his chest until his whole body was lit up and he sighed. It had been so long. Richie was looking at Eddie’s hands, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of his palm.

_Just do it, Eddie._ “I was…I am…” He started, then paused. What the fuck did he want to say? What could he say…Why couldn’t he just put it into words. This was Richie, for Christ’s sake.

Richie, who had been his best friend since they were eight. Richie, who let him put flowers in his hair, beaming and giggling during recess in the fifth grade. Richie, who the first time Henry Bowers screamed ‘faggot’ at Eddie in the hallway had jumped on Bowers’ back and bit into the back of his neck, drawing blood. Richie, who in eighth grade shot up like a rocket, by the end of the year being five foot eight and still lanky as hell. Richie, who made Eddie consider what the word ‘gay’ meant to him. Richie, who had come out to him in the most nonchalant way, leaning over the armrest while they watched ‘The Hunger Games’ in theaters - “Heyyo Eds, I wanna bang Peeta _and_ Katniss, what’s up with that?” - and then afterwards said, “I like ‘em all,” clarifying for him. Richie, who snuck into his room via second story window the night of graduation, slicked down with rain and sobbing. Neither of his parents had showed up to watch him walk and he’d fought with them after Ben’s graduation party. He asked to stay the night and Eddie had obliged. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not yet, but as he’d laid curled up against Richie’s back, his breathing shallow and snoring slightly, Eddie hadn’t cared. He just wanted him safe. Richie, whose neck he had pressed a light kiss to that very same night. Richie, who would give him piggyback rides whenever he wanted them. Richie, the boy who had become a man right before his very eyes. 

Richard Alexander Tozier, the man he was probably in love with. 

“Richie, I…” He felt Richie’s thumb press into the soft place under his jaw, his forefinger pressed against his chin and lift his face up. 

“Eddie,” His eyes were glazed over, like he was looking _into_ him instead of at him, and it was as if Eddie’s heart had stopped. All he could see was Richie, his face, his eyes, the shape of his lips, _him_. His mind was reeling a hundred thousand thoughts a minute the stillness in his chest from their proximity they were so close he was sure Richie could feel his rancid morning breath on his face and god the day he didn’t have time to go brush his teeth and Jesus he was close all he could see were his eyes and him, it was _him_ this time, really him. 

“Eddie, I…I did it because I’m an idiot and…I’m –”

There was a frantic knock on the door and both of them jumped. Eddie’s heart started pounding away in his chest and Richie let his hand drop, scooting a few inches back away from him. 

“I swear to _fuck!_ ” Eddie shouted, turning towards the sound, his brow furrowed. Now? What could any of them possibly want _now?_

“Uh, Eddie, it’s an emergency.” It was Mike’s voice. He sounded panicked.

“I’ll come down in a minute!” He turned back to Richie, willed him to put his hands back on his face, touch him again, anything.

“Eddie, your mom’s here.”

Oh, _fuck_. Eddie’s heart went cold, his mouth dropped open.

“My mom?” Please be joking. But Mike didn’t joke like that. Richie’s breath hitched, and they couldn’t break eye contact.

“Yeah…she’s uh. She’s out on the porch with Nell.” Oh _FUCK_. Nell. Al Nell. Officer Aloysius Nell.

“What the fuck…” Eddie whispered, unbundled his legs from the bed and stood up. Richie reached out and took his wrist gently. 

“Come back,” He swallowed hard and looked from Eddie to the door. “Come back when you’re done. Please?”

Eddie breathed and nodded. “Don’t hit anyone while I’m gone.” He tried to joke.

Richie actually laughed. “No promises Eds. Come back, and we won’t have to worry about that.” They giggled together like children and Eddie had this overwhelming urge to tell Mike to give his mother a plain ‘fuck you’ and jump back onto the bed and push every single doubt of Richie’s feelings, of his _own_ feelings out into Richie’s mouth and explore the vast regions of his doubts with his hands, warm and sweaty and soft about Richie’s everything and let him do the same for him, push all of those doubts away, deep into a dream.

But Nell was out there too. He sighed and went to the door. Mike was still standing there, his face nearly ashen, so pale that Eddie wondered if he had seen a ghost. It was that face his friend had that took away all the fear and the light floaty heart feeling he’d had with Richie not seconds ago and replaced it with that same, unbridled rage he had felt with Beverly in the alleyway. His mother. Oh, his mother.  
He looked Mike hard in the face. “Where is she?” His voice was even, flat.

Mike didn’t respond, just pointed. Down the stairs. Eddie looked down them then back at Mike, then pounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the foyer, where the others were standing. God, could they not have one good fucking day? Eddie looked at them, all met with the same general look Mike had on upstairs and he turned to the door, swung it wide, its hinges creaking significantly less than when they moved in – Ben and Mike had been working hard on everything – and there she was, in all her glory, standing on the fucking porch with Aloysius Nell, his mother wringing her huge hands together in front of her, rain drizzling behind them. He closed the door behind him, trying to keep his breathing even through his nose.

“What?” He said, and his mother threw her arms around his neck, pressing his face into her chest and he groaned, let it happen. Maybe ignoring everything she sent him over the last week wasn’t the best idea. He could see a sliver of Nell over her shoulder. He looked almost as annoyed as Eddie felt.

“Ohhhhhhhh Eddiiiieeeee I was so worried, you weren’t answering your phone, or your emails and I was worried that you were sick, or you’d gone out of town without telling me and I wanted to make sure you were okay because I was so worried –”

“Mom.”

“—and when you didn’t immediately come to the door and that _Uris_ boy answered I wondered if I even had the right house and you didn’t tell me you were living with all of them –“

_Yes, I did._ “Mom.”

“And then he gave me _attitude_ can you believe I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re alright and see if maybe you just needed a break from this place because you’re starting to worry me, and you shouldn’t be away –”

“Mrs. Kaspbrak,”

“Mom.”

“For so long I hate it that you’re so close, but you never come visit, why don’t you visit me anymore ohhhhhh I’m just so glad that you’re okay I called six times this morning and you never answered, and I was hoping –”

“ _Mother!_ ” He ripped himself away from her pushing himself against the door and taking a heaving breath. He’d practically been suffocating in her breast and he grabbed at his neck, rearranged Richie’s shirt. She was looking at him with such sadness and faux confusion on her face that for a moment he was actually sad for her, sad for this woman who had birthed him, sad for this woman who had lost her husband who had lost his father, who had struggled to raise him on her own and keep him safe from all of the poison that grew in the streets of this godforsaken world and he saw his eyes in her face and the soft curve of his own nose but he saw his father’s soft hair and his father’s quiet oval face and in hers’ he saw panic and eleven – no twenty-odd – years of overbearing, ridiculous _shit_ and god he hated her he hated her he loved her because she was his mother and he loved her but he hated her.

How could a person love and hate another at the same time? How could he love and hate his mother? How could he?

“Please mother, what are you doing here?” He said. He tried to keep his voice even, calm the creature in his chest from ripping through. She was his mother.

She sighed, her face incredulous behind these huge dripping eyes and thin line where lips should be and too much rouge and behind her Officer Nell, gruff and sixty and pale ice eyes that would rather be anywhere but where he was now, here in this part of town on this fucking porch dealing with this woman again for the first time since this poor kid was eleven or twelve or shit even fifteen and his friends had all got drunk and he’d called the police looking for a ride because the seven of them had ridden in some asshole seniors minivan to this party that was on the rich side of town over on Broadway and then got shitfaced and left these seven fifteen year olds too drunk on cheap ass gas station beer and this poor kid this poor Kaspbrak kid had called and asked specifically for him and so he’d came to pick them up and dropped them off at Denbrough’s house and here he was and what was this kid now, twenty-three? twenty-four? not a fucking kid, that’s for sure. And he couldn’t stop looking at his mother, her eyes her sick looking eyes, always so watery and he wondered if she’d cry like she sometimes did, one of her few weapons and he hoped she wouldn’t because he would lose his mind and go off and he _really_ couldn’t afford to do that now he needed to stay calm and – 

“I didn’t answer your calls because I didn’t want to talk to you, mother.”

“Eddie, I,” she choked a little on his name, looked at Nell, and this made Eddie get angrier, louder, like what the _fuck_ was she looking at him for?

“No seriously, listen to me, once and for all since you apparently have grown quite accustomed to just _not fucking doing that._ I am here, living with my best fucking friends and I am happy here and I am not sick, and I have never been, and I am trying to have a good fucking day mother, so I need you to get the fuck off my porch because I am a goddamn adult –”

“Eddie, you shouldn’t –” his mother tried, and he could see over her shoulder Officer Nell was covering his mouth and his eyes were so wide he could see the lines of veins on the outsides of them.

“No I probably shouldn’t but here we are mother having the second conversation in my lifetime where you go out of your way to be difficult but I won’t just lay in a hospital bed this time with a broken arm and let you come in here and try to ruin things again because mom I am doing just _swell_ and I really want you to leave.”

“You can’t speak to me that way, Officer Nell, tell him!” She turned and shouted but Nell just shook his head, put up his hands in defeat – this was one fight he was not going to contribute to…or try to stop it seemed.

“Stop dragging him into this _I am a grown adult_ and it isn’t his or your job to check on me when I have given you no indication that I am anything but _fine_.”

“ _Eddiieeeeeeeeeeee!_ ” She was just whining now, but she sounded defeated and it gave Eddie the boost he desperately needed. Being here in front of her was making his head ache.

“Now, if you will fucking _excuse_ me, I want to go back inside and make out with my _fucking boyfriend_. Good day!” 

He nodded an apology at Nell, who blinked at him and then he turned and pushed inside, slamming the door behind him. The others were standing in the foyer still, all in various stages of ‘what the fuck’ and he was suddenly panting. He looked in Ben’s face, then Bill’s, then Stan’s, skimmed over Bev’s and Mike’s. Mike was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his elbows leaning on the banister. 

There was a brief pounding on the door, his mother’s high pitch nasal crying, “ _Edddiiiiiieeee, pleaseeeeeee,_ ” and Eddie had this overwhelming feeling that if he wasn’t gay he would have married a woman just like her, and _god_ wouldn’t _that_ have been something. He could hear Nell trying to placate her and she was screaming about something at him. 

Eddie turned his head, pressing his back to the door, “Get the _fuck_ off my porch, mother! Nell get her the _fuck_ off my porch!”

His mother was making this sobbing, choking sound, and Nell – he could imagine him putting an ageing hand on his mother’s shoulder and her jerking away, or maybe not maybe she would throw herself into him – muttering something along the lines of, “Let’s go, Sonia.” There was a brief silence, the hiccupping coughs of his mother bringing herself down from her latest crying fit, and then finally, the sweet creak of the porch as she and Nell left it.

Suddenly he was overcome with the strangest thought, the slamming of two car doors out front and two ‘whoops’ of a police siren as Nell pulled away from the fence. He was panting for some reason and he looked over the others, their faces still shock and awe.

“Why the fuck did I say, ‘good day’?” 

At first it was just quiet, like they were taking it all in, thinking. It was Mike who laughed first actually. He made a coughing sound, putting his hand over his mouth and then Eddie could see tears were spilling out the sides of his eyes and he was _laughing_ like, practically cackling, and then it was Bill, laughing his ass off and putting his hands on his knees from the force of it and then Bev and Ben and Stan at last, cupping his hands over his mouth to laugh quieter and Jesus then Eddie was laughing too, his chest and head feeling light and he was laughing so hard, Christ he couldn’t believe he had said those things to his mother and what was going to happen now? Was she going to come back and scream at him? Disown him? Keep doing what she was doing? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

When the laughter in him finally died, he looked up to where the hallway met their bedrooms. “I,” he started. “I have to…” He couldn’t finish. If he said he was going to go upstairs and try some unholy things, well…

“Go, it’s fine.” Bev said.

“We can run some errands, or something.” Bill added, wiping a tear from his eye. 

Eddie nodded. He couldn’t stop himself from blushing, however.

He bounded up the stairs, two at a time again, went to Richie’s door, swung it wide. 

The room was empty. _What the fuck?_ The curtains were billowing, and Eddie saw that the window was wide open. On the bed was an open notebook, laid cleanly on top of the ruffled bed and he rushed to it, picked it up.

In Richie’s scrawling hand was a note, short and concise. 

_I went out for smokes. We’ll finish this later, I swear to fuck._

There was a little winky face next to the last sentence and a heart underneath his signature. Eddie at first was a little frustrated, his heart slowing in his chest. But he knew Richie was coming home.  
This time he would be coming home to him.

 

The sun had set well before Richie actually came home. Eddie had been sitting on the couch with Stan and Bill, watching the new _American Vandal_ season on Netflix. He had barely been paying attention, his knee bouncing constantly or his head flipping to any sound that came from the foyer. The others tried to calm him down, assured him that Richie would be back any minute, and he knew that, he did! but it didn’t make him any less anxious.

His time waiting had consisted of tv, taking a shower, pacing the length of his bedroom multiple times, contemplating another shower, not doing that, doing a bit of laundry, putting away said laundry, eating a snack, eating another snack, eating lunch, throwing up just a little bit of lunch from nerves, pacing some more and finally, when Stan had been getting anxious from his nervousness, had been pulled down onto the couch to watch this fucking show. 

Eddie had chewed his nails down to the quick when Richie finally came in through the door. Eddie stood up so quick he got lightheaded and used Mike’s shoulder to steady himself. Mike smiled at him and patted his hand. 

Richie was soaked to the bone, wearing a light brown jacket that due to how drenched he was looked like fresh leather. His hair was sopped down over his glasses and he panted in the doorway. He looked at Eddie and Eddie looked at him.

“Eds, hey.” Richie said. 

“Hey, Richie.” Eddie replied. Then they stood in silence. Eddie’s heart hadn’t beat normally all day and if it didn’t go back to normal soon he wondered if he was going to have a heart attack. He was light and soft. That’s all he was feeling right now.

“Man,” Stan said. “You guys are the epitome of loquacious.” Richie shot him a look. Stan held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, I got it, beep, beep, or whatever.”

Richie nodded toward the door and jabbed with his thumb. “Do you want to go for a walk, Eds? It’s stopped raining.” He was being gentle with his words; it made Eddie’s heart soar.

All he could do was nod and he went around the couch, grabbed his jacket off the rack, put it on. They went out into the night together, under the watchful eye of the five other Losers, who were of course pressed to the window examining their exit.

They walked for a while, the rain having made puddles in the street, ones that they would avoid and smaller ones that Richie would splash his feet into. There was a puddle that came in front of Eddie at the corner of Kansas and Maine and Richie threw his arm out so that it hit Eddie softly in the chest. “What?” He started and then Richie’s hands were on his waist, his face so goddamn close to his own and he held his breath, wondering what was going to happen. 

Richie gripped his waist and gently picked him up and over the puddle, as if it weren’t a foot in diameter. Butterflies warped through him and he sighed. Richie gave him a smile that could have lit the sky. 

They kept going until they came to the bridge over the canal, where they stopped and leaned slightly over the edge, listening to the water run underneath them. 

Eddie listened to the wind in the trees, the canal rushing, the sound of Richie’s lighter as he set a cigarette between his teeth. “Where did you go today?” He asked, turning his head.

Richie shrugged. “I got some smokes, went and asked for your mom’s permission to marry you, we had a gladiator fight –”

“Beep, beep, Rich.” Eddie chuckled.

Richie rubbed his shoulder up against him, smiling. “I cleared my head mostly. Bought some cigarettes. Thought about everything. Accidentally fell asleep in Bassey Park. That’s all.”

“Is that why you’re so –”

“Wet? Yeah.” Richie snorted, took a drag off his cigarette.

“What conclusions did you come to while you were off thinking?” Eddie was shivering, not from the cold but from the anticipation. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his system at a thousand miles an hour, spooling in his abdomen, threatening to spill. It was warm, this feeling. He had felt it before, but he had no idea when. He tried to ignore it.

Another shrug. He took a long inhale from his smoke again, breathed it out through his nose. Eddie was upwind so he didn’t have to breathe it in. When they had stopped, Richie had rearranged them so he stood at Eddie’s left. 

“Just everything that’s been going on. Not just…that night,” he cleared his throat. “But the last few years. The stuff from when we were kids. Like…” 

“Like?” Eddie repeated.

“Like, do you remember truth or dare?” Richie laughed a little.

“In general, or a specific time?”

“Once, we were 17, at um, Stanny’s house while his parents were in Bangor, you remember? It was all of us and maybe a few other kids from school, I don’t remember who now. One of them dared Stan and Mike to kiss, you remember that? It was like the most awkward kiss I’d ever seen. And then Ben and Bev practically made out right in my lap and disappeared for an hour. And I got that truth question.”

Eddie racked his brain for the specific moment in question and it came back to him. One of the cheerleaders had been there, maybe her name was Melanie? Or Angie? Who knew anymore. “She asked you your biggest fear, pretty sure.”

Richie nodded. “I think I said something ridiculous like clowns or something, I don’t know, but the truth is, my biggest fear was probably not being loved and forgotten. You know? I watched my parents hate each other…and me after a while. They were great when I was like eleven, but then…I dunno. They stopped after a while. And I was worried that I would never get real love and care or whatever because they had been such shining examples for me.” He laughed, took a last hit off his cigarette and dropped it over the edge of the bridge into the water below. Eddie watched his face, watched the lines near his eyes as they folded and bent. How could he feel that way? Did the Losers not show him what he meant? Did _he_ not show him what he meant?

“That’s sad and inaccurate, Rich.” He said, and Richie waved a hand at him.

“No, I know that now. But I was thinking about 17-year-old Richie,” he finally turned and looked at Eddie. His eyes were glistening under the streetlamps at both ends of the bridge. “How do you think he would have reacted if he had known he was going to be in love not two years later?” He stood to his full height and _Christ_ he was tall. He had always been tall, how had Eddie never _really_ noticed? He was looking up at him, so sure. 

“In love, eh?” He tried to sound coy, like he wasn’t oblivious, like he wasn’t waiting, _waiting_ for him to lean over and…

Richie nodded, cupped Eddie’s face in his hand. Eddie leaned into it, feeling the rough grooves of his palm against his cheek, closed his eyes. It wasn’t until he pulled away, took Eddie’s hand in his and started walking again that he reopened them, realizing that this wasn’t the moment. He was only a little disappointed. 

“I think you got a truth too.” Richie said to Eddie, who laughed.

“Yeah, mine wasn’t that exciting either. ‘Would you rather be immortal or invisible?’” 

“You chose immortality, interesting choice.” Richie laughed and squeezed his hand tighter. It made Eddie’s heart flutter. “I would have chosen invisibility, because then I could cause a ruckus.”

“ _Could you describe the ruckus, sir?_ ” Eddie replied almost immediately.

“Hey there you go! You’re catching on!” Richie nudged him with his arm, a huge smile on his face. 

Eddie liked this, just walking like this. The air was cool, but not cold, and his hand in Richie’s felt safe, right. It was like maybe they were the only two in the whole world, like maybe they could just _be_ , like this, forever. Use that immortality to his advantage. If only.

They passed by the Barrens, where they used to play when they were younger. Nostalgia raced through Eddie and he snuggled in under Richie’s arm. 

“You getting cold, Eds?” 

He shook his head and leaned into the taller boy. “No, I just…I’m just enjoying this is all.”

“Yeah, me too.” That soft voice again, gravelly. It made that pool deep inside him rumble, like a geyser about to explode. How did he know this feeling? What was it exactly?

They came to the park and went down the lit pathway. 

“What else did you think about while you were down here earlier?” Eddie asked, his voice cracking a little. Jesus, was he in high school again?

“Well, let’s see.” He stopped in the path, surrounded by a handful of trees. He took both of Eddie’s hands in his, faced him, but didn’t look directly at him. “I thought about that night, where I went wrong, what I could have done better, how I could have explained everything…” He paused again.

“What else?” Eddie pulled himself in closer to Richie.

“I thought about whether or not you wanted me and what it meant if you did…I thought about…how it would feel, to be with you…to be yours.” Richie finally looked down at him. His heart began pounding away again like thunder during a storm and Richie was the lightning _he was the lightning he was going to set his skin on fire_. “How it would feel to finally touch you the way I wanted…” He put his hand on Eddie’s cheek again.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s words were only wisps of breath now.

“I want to…” Richie’s face was just above his, they were breathing the same air.

“Then do it.”

The whole world was still, no breeze, no cars passing on the road above them, just the sound of their two breathing. Richie licked his lips, his exhale shaky. Eddie couldn’t believe it – he was nervous. How could he be nervous? Eddie was about to throw up. 

He pressed his forehead against Richie’s, his eyes staying open, he wanted to see him until the very last second. Richie’s eyes were fluttering between open and closed, and Eddie put his hands on his cheeks, which were hot, like a fever had overtaken him. 

“Richie,” he whispered, his breath was pressed back from the proximity of their faces. 

“Eddie, I need to say something real quick,” _Jesus fuck, Richie_. He put one of his hands on Eddie’s left cheek, pushed the other into his hair. “Eddie, I love you, okay?”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, his breath hitched up so high and then his mouth was covered with Richie’s own, and the feeling uncoiled in his abdomen and his chest and he was on fire, pushing into Richie because this is what he wanted, _god_ he had been waiting for this for over ten years and god he could taste tears on his lips and he didn’t know whose they were he was just pressing in harder against Richie who was wrapping his arms around his waist and he was picking him up now and _GOD_ he was going to pass out it was only this, their mouths the only things that existed and their hands and he switched positions, his nose knocking Richie’s glasses askew and he pulled back to apologize and the hand in his hair pulled him forward again and Richie took the other from his face, grabbed his glasses and threw them aside and he rearranged his hands so that he could actually pick him up and his hands were on his ass now, and Eddie used the momentum to wrap his legs around Richie’s waist and Richie lost his balance for a second but they had moved back into the grove and the air was rushing out of Eddie’s lungs as Richie slammed his back into a tree, grinding into him.

He leaned his head up and let out a moan against everything in his mind that was screaming that he could be heard, and, in the motion, Richie pressed his teeth against the soft skin of his neck and the sound that came out that time was louder, harder, grittier. He was kissing Richie’s hair, his forehead, his eyes, pulling him back up to meet his lips again, pressing his tongue into Richie’s mouth and tasting him there and Richie was moaning into his mouth and that feeling moved from his stomach to his chest and set him on fire there too, and he was grinding down into Richie, feeling him against him and his own growing excitement and Christ he was going to scream if Richie didn’t touch him, if he didn’t let his fingers and his hands and his mouth fill in every void, answer every question that Eddie had been asking himself for the past five years, did he want him, did he feel the same way, did he love him? and the answer was yes, yes, _Eddie I love you okay?_ and that was okay that was perfect because he loved him too _I love you too Richie you fucking asshole I love you and I have forever Jesus Christ I love you so!_

And Richie was letting him down, standing up, still kissing him with that fervent feeling of two teenagers who had just snuck out of the house and met in the woods to kiss and make up for lost time and then Richie’s hand was pressed to the front of Eddie’s jeans and he gasped and Richie was fumbling with the button on the front of them and Eddie was helping him, he had no idea what he was thinking, what he was doing, only that he wanted it more than anything in the world.

“Richie, I,” his voice was throaty, like he hadn’t spoken in a thousand years and Richie was on the ground in front of him and what was he doing there?

“Eddie, I want to,” Richie’s voice had that same quality of his and Eddie looked down at him and _Christ_ had he always been that pretty? He nodded, and the motion was completely lost on him until Richie was making a sound of astonishment and Eddie laughed but the sound was cut off and replaced by a groan as Richie took him into his mouth and _oh god_ was this really happening? His hand was in Richie’s hair and the other was pressed against his stomach and he was going to pass out it had never felt this good ever in his experience, but it was the goddamn truth, he was on the verge of tears and he pressed his knuckles into his teeth, biting down and the heat was filling his whole body and –

“Richie, fuck –” He rasped. “Stop baby, please, stop really quick.” Richie did as he was told, looked up at Eddie. His eyes were so huge, and Eddie reached out and wiped saliva off the corner of his mouth. Richie leaned into it, wrapping his tongue around his finger and Eddie nearly buckled right there.

“What do you need, Eddie?” He stood, and Eddie made quick work of rearranging the front of his own pants.

“I need you,” He said, kissing Richie softly on the mouth for the first time since this had started. “Just not here.” 

Then Richie was leaning forward, offering his back to Eddie and Eddie jumped on, Richie’s arms under his knees. “You have to be my eyes, Spaghetti Man, I’m blind.” 

And they ran, Richie carrying him most of the way until they hit a ditch in front of a house with Halloween decorations already out and Richie toppled, taking Eddie with him and they were laughing, Eddie kissing his face, _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , and then back up again, taking one another’s hands and running as fast as they could. They were running to beat the devil, Bill used to say, so fast and hard that Eddie was sure his chest would seize up, that phantom asthma and he would be wheezing any moment now, but it didn’t. Then the house was in sight and it was like he pushed himself harder. The midnight dew that wet his clothes, or was it starting to rain again, he didn’t know, cooling him as his skin grew hot. 

Richie bounded up the door, practically threw his shoulder into it and he stopped, waited for Eddie to catch up and he came in and the rest of the Losers were still in the living room, staring at them, hot-faced and panting, Richie sans glasses once more and Eddie with his pants looking surely disheveled. He opened his mouth to say something and all that came out was a giggle and he reached for Richie, took his hand and they went up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs there was a quick, “Which one?”, “Uh, yours.”, and they sprinted down the hall to Richie’s room, threw open the door, and burst inside and Richie slammed the door shut behind them, locked it.

Eddie was still panting, a smile that threatened to split his face in two overcoming him. They just stood there, staring at one another, breathing hard. Richie’s back was pressed against the door and he looked Eddie up and down. Eddie didn’t feel self-conscious. He felt wanted. 

“I don’t want to assume.” Richie said.

“Assume what?” Eddie replied.

Richie gestured to him, simultaneously everything and nothing at all. “Anything, to be honest. I want this to be perfect.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Eddie was toying with the hem of his shirt, watching Richie. “It will be perfect because it’s not perfect.”

Richie smiled, a sad one this time, like he was going to cry. “I love you, Eds. I’m _in_ love with you.”

Eddie laughed, and the sound was so ridiculously lit with happiness it sounded like crying. “I’m in love with you, Richie.” He went to him, closing the distance in a few short steps, pulling his shirt off as he did so. 

Richie made a sound he had never heard before, like a moan and a squeak. Eddie went up to him, put his palms flat against his chest, kissed him slowly. Richie melted into his mouth again, and Eddie pulled back, ran his tongue against Richie’s bottom lip. His eyes were closed, and Eddie watched the subtle ticks of his arms as he helped him out of his shirt, pushed their chests together. He could feel Richie’s heart slamming against his ribs, Eddie’s own mimicking the speed. 

He led Richie to the bed, kissed him slowly. He let his hands run down his chest, started undoing his belt. 

“Do you want –”

“Yes.” Eddie already knew what he was going to say. He had changed his mind on this topic over the course of his sexual life but this time there was no question. He wanted Richie inside of him.

Richie made quick work of undoing his pants, taking off Eddie’s in a swift motion that made him gasp aloud and they were both standing there in their boxers. Eddie pulled him down on the bed, continuing to kiss him deeply. Richie tripped a little getting in the bed and Eddie was laughing, tossing his head back into the tangle of blankets, exposing his collar and Adam’s apple. Richie made a scoffing sound, placed a kiss on the hollow between his neck and collar. 

“Oh, that’s funny? I’m half naked on top of you and you’re laughing at me?” He tucked his fingers into the band of Eddie’s boxers, but he didn’t even notice, he was carding his fingers through Richie’s stupid thick hair, feeling his lips like a burning fever on his chest, a languid kiss on each pec, his tongue running down his stomach and then his boxers were ripped off of him, and he gasped.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Eddie said, feeling the cool air of the bedroom on his stomach and shivering.

“Richie, actually,” he responded, and he was slipping out of his own underwear, climbing back on top of him.

At first Eddie was afraid to look, he was so nervous suddenly, as if he hadn’t already seen Richie’s dick when he streaked the length of Upmile on a dare the summer after graduation as twenty other people from their class screamed and hollered with their coerced out of the gas station attendant 3.2 beers from the corner gas stations and Eddie had just been so _taken aback_ at his bravery and well, you know, and then halfway up the road, they’d all seen the tell-tale revolving red and blue lights and scattered and Richie had tripped over his feet while turning around to see the commotion and then bolted into the wilderness. He had showed the Losers the healing road rash which had stretched the length of his left nipple to the top of the cut of his legs to his groin, a sight that had given Eddie butterflies.

And he had them now, _god_ did he have them now, and he reached his hand down between them, squeezed and Richie moaned into his neck.

“Richie,” He held his face in his hands, made his eyes focus on his own. “I want you inside me. _Now_.” 

Richie gulped. “Yeah, okay.”

He reached over to the bedside table and rustled around in the top drawer. Eddie pulled himself up on the pillows, watching the muscles of ink twisting around Richie’s arms, he scooched up and rested his knees under the bends of Eddie’s legs, and he watched him put the corner of a condom package in between his teeth, rip it open, spit out the excess corner onto the ground, rolled it over the length of his cock. Eddie shivered again, the anticipation building to a bursting point behind his lungs and diaphragm, and he inhaled shakily.

“Are you nervous?” Richie said, concern in his eyes. 

Eddie shrugged, then nodded. “This is an entire lifetime of waiting. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous.” Richie was pressing a kiss into him again, and he could have died from just that kiss. 

They lined themselves up, slick with sweat and lubrication that smelled far too strongly of strawberries – “What the fuck?”, “It was for Bev’s birthday, we can talk about that later.” – and Richie was leaning over him and they were breathing the same air again, staring into one another’s eyes and for Eddie that’s all it was. This moment. This same air. This same air and this same place and this same moment and his eyes. Those eyes like twinkling galaxies, gold and silver and greens in those brown pools of garnet and he loved him. _God_ , he loved him, so fucking much that it hurt. It hurt how much he loved him because how could this be real? And he was looking into him, practically into his soul, and here they were, and their nakedness was freeing, and Richie pressed his forehead against his and he closed his eyes and breathed him in, savoring the moment. Because they were two separate entities, entirely their own persons and yet right now, they were the same.

“I love you, Richie.” He didn’t even realize he had said it, it was practically an exhale, the breath of a whisper. He nuzzled into Richie’s cheek and Richie froze.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered open. He twisted his head, looked at Rich. His eyes were wide open, and he was breathing steadily through his nose. He looked panicked.

“Babe?” Eddie said, his heart getting tired from the constant pounding but now he was worried. He shifted a bit, tried to get a better look.

“Huh-uh. Don’t…” His voice was choked. 

“Richie, what’s wrong?” He put a hand on Richie’s cheek and Richie made that sound again, a resounding _no_ sound and then he pressed his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck and he was shaking, and Eddie was staring at the ceiling. _What the fuck?_

Richie leaned up, a look of absolute terror on his face. Eddie studied the look that he was wearing and then it clicked. His face softened and giggled once. _Oh my god._ He looked at Richie’s panicked face again and then burst out laughing. “ _Oh my god!_ ”

“Hey, wait!” Richie said, his eyebrows curved upward, like the worry Eddie had felt a minute ago had now passed on to him. 

Tears were rolling down Eddie’s cheeks, all of the nerves and butterflies out the window and all he could think now was _Jesus Christ Richie we hadn’t even got to the good part yet_ , and then he was guffawing and he tried respond, his voice a squeak, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I just –” and then he saw the confused smile on Richie’s face again and he was losing his shit, rolling onto his side.

“Hey, okay, wait,” Richie was laughing into his shoulder. “Listen, man, it’s been like nearly five years since I’ve got laid and –”

Eddie was laughing even harder now, holding his hands over his stomach. He wasn’t even laughing at _him_ he was just laughing at the situation and _god_ it made him love Richie even more. 

He waved his hand, “I’m sorry,” and he kissed Richie hard on the mouth. He pulled away, rested his head on the pillow. He was coming down from his laughter and just staring, wide-eyed and smiling so wide because _he was here._

“I love you, Richie Tozier.” He brushed a hair out of Richie’s eyes, suddenly wondering how he was going to see for the rest of the week, his glasses were somewhere in a grove in Bassey Park, and he wondered what this meant for them. 

Would this change the dynamic of the house? A second couple existing here in these walls? Were they even a couple?

And what did this mean for him? Eddie was so in love with him and he seemed to return the feeling.

“I love you, Eddie Kaspbrak. So fucking much.” Richie replied, sighing a kiss on top of his nose. He snuggled down in next to him, their naked bodies pressed together, Eddie curled into his stomach and he sighed, closing his eyes.

“If you give me fifteen minutes, I can fix this.” Richie whispered in his ear and he laughed, a short breath through his nose.

“Don’t press your luck, Trashmouth.” 

And that was all it had to be. They were two people who had met at a very interesting time in their lives and grown and blossomed together around five other people. Their lives all connected with glowing red ribbons and they were finally all together here, in this place and time and that’s all it had to be. That was all that mattered is that they were here. And fuck what the future had in store because this was now. Tomorrow was a different day.


	7. Six Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Hanlon makes some calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, hopefully it's worth the wait!! Enjoy!!

The next month turned to business as usual – family dinners, movie nights, the comings-and-goings to and from work. The only huge difference was that Eddie and Richie seemed to be attempting to make up for lot time, consummating their newly kindled relationship all over the house, at all hours of the day. It was like traversing a minefield trying to guess where they would be at any particular time. On two separate occasions Bill walked in on them in the kitchen, clothes less than on, Richie kneeling in front of Eddie, or vice versa. Bill hadn’t immediately noticed them, nor had Eddie seen Bill, as his eyes were squinched shut in ecstasy. Bill had been in the middle of a text message to Audra and hadn’t sensed the immediate danger, the presence of them and it wasn’t until he looked up, caught sight of the scene unfolding, dropped his phone and screamed a laughing, “Oh _fuck!_ ” that Eddie even noticed him there. Then, according to Bill, when he painted the scene for Mike and Beverly later, it was a scramble to shove Richie off, rearrange clothes, all while Bill stood slack jawed, covering his eyes and stammering an apology reminiscent of his teenage years. Richie, ever the gentleman, merely wiped the corner of his mouth and flashed a shit-eating grin.

“Howdy Big Bill.”

From there it was a constant race to use the shower, eat breakfast, at one point to enjoy the last warm day of the year. Beverly was even heard screaming from the basement laundry room, “ _IT’S FOR WASHING CLOTHES YOU NASTY FUCKS THERE ARE TWO PERFECTLY GOOD BEDROOMS UPSTAIRS CHRIST!_ ” It was sort of annoying, but it was like Stan whispered to Mike in his room, trying to escape the sounds permeating from Eddie’s room that night.

“Weren’t we kind of like that? In the beginning?” Mike supposed it was true, he thought as he lay next to a slumbering Stanley, stroking his curls, pulling them gently out between his fingers, there _was_ a time, right after they first got together that they could barely keep their hands off one another, always sitting next to one another in the darkness of movie theaters, running slow and trembling fingers over bare arms, finding each other in empty locker rooms to press teeth to jawbones, kissing in the barn under a moonlit sky. The first time they made love had been just like the first time they kissed, nervous, soft, _oh that’s what this is._

Stan stirred next to him, rolled over and pulled his knees up, pressing his back into Mike’s side. Mike turned to curl around him, pushing his nose to the nape of his boyfriend’s neck.

It had been prom night their senior year, that holy first time, as cliché as that is. They had all gone as a group to Derry’s prom because it was easier to invite one person to Derry’s than six to the South Portland High prom. They had picked these ridiculous looking tuxes, Bev and Richie’s idea, the kind with ruffles and huge gaudy corsages of freesias that Mike had chosen. They had discussed not going at all, skipping the event as one last stance of teenage rebellion. It was Eddie and Stan who fought for them to go, “It’s our last hurrah!”, “If we don’t go, we might regret it later,”.

Mike approached Stan after it was decided they would be in attendance about going as his date, even if it was a secret to everyone. Bill had opened up his parent-lacking house for the after party for drinks and movies and, while not directly discussed, tears over the fact that in a few short weeks they would all be disappearing to the far corners of the state, maybe to never see each other again. Thank god how wrong they’d been. 

They stood on the sidewalk after classes ended, blushing at one another, shuffling their feet. Mike was afraid his face would split open from the smiling. 

“I wish we could go as actual dates.” Stan said. He wasn’t out to his family, neither was Mike at that point, not really. It’s not that Stan’s parents were uber religious or anything – they were Jewish in birth but not in practice – but he was still nervous about telling them, so he just…didn’t. 

The Derry High Prom’s took place on a warm Saturday evening a few weeks before graduation. The theme was One Night in Vegas, chosen by one Sally Mueller, head of the prom committee. She introduced herself like that when she would talk to people, Sally Mueller, Head of the Prom Committee, as if there was a trademark symbol behind it. She would go on and on in the hallways and at lunch and on twitter about how much work it was putting it all together _by herself_ , but Ben had volunteered his efforts and eye on multiple occasions and she had rejected all of his proposals, so he let her suffer. 

The day leading up to the dance had been stressful for the Losers, and that was of their own doing. Beverly had arrived on Richie’s doorstep a little after 11 in the morning with a huge patchwork suitcase, holding a cigarette in between her teeth as she waited to finally get to the door. He opened it, a plate of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets in his hand. He dipped two of them in the mustard on the plate and shoved them in his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” He said. He was wearing just a pair of boxers and was looking at her with mild interest. 

She let go of the suitcase and pulled the cigarette from her mouth, exhaling in frustration. “It’s prom tonight you idiot.”

He nearly choked and dropped the plate, half-eaten nuggets and mustard splattering on the front entryway. He, thankfully, was the only one who had really forgotten that prom had arrived, Eddie and Stan were already on their way to Richie’s to prepare and help Beverly get ready. Bill and Ben went to Mike’s where they spent the hours of noon to six relaxing and watching movies, then thirty minutes getting ready and piling into Bill’s car to drive over to Richie’s, finding the others in a state of unrest. Richie was the only one actually ready, smoking a cigarette on the front porch in a skin-tight tuxedo reminiscent of the 1970s. 

“Found it in dad’s closet, figured he isn’t using it.” He said. His ankles, covered in pot leaf socks, were showing, the pants too short. He seemed rather comfortable in it, regardless of its too-small quality. Mike went into the house, let Bill and Ben chat with Richie on the porch and found Beverly, Eddie, and Stan in Richie’s room, Stan sitting on the bed, arms back in a lounging position, Eddie trying to fix something on Bev’s face, his fingers in her eyes.

“It’s fine Eddie, Christ man, you’re going to stab my eye out!” She said, laughing and looking up at the ceiling, rubbing the underside of her eye with her index knuckle.

“It’s clumping up and – oh my god you’re smudging it, stop STOP please GOD BEV –"

Stan lit up when Mike came in, patted a spot on the unkempt bed and scooted over. He looked at him, wearing a crisp grey tuxedo that he’d rented, the jacket folded over his knees. The new white shirt was perfectly tight around his chest and arms and he could see goosebumps rising on his arms. It made his own skin do the same. Mike sat next to him, his heart beating a little faster. He still got nervous around him.

“It’s been this for thirty minutes. Eddie doesn’t think that it matches enough and also thinks that her mascara is too clumpy, or maybe her boobs are too out and about –” He rolled his eyes, looked at Mike. “It’s constant insanity.”

Bev put her hands on her hips and turned toward the two of them on the bed. She was wearing a tight, flowing teal dress which made the copper and fire of her hair pop, her breasts were definitely accentuated. Mike shrugged.

“I think they look great. I’m trying to make those bitches down to Derry High jealous as fuck.” She said, blowing the two boys a kiss and a wink. Stan put his face in his hand, blushing.

“And make Ben’s dick hard,” Eddie said, straightening his bowtie in the mirror over the dresser. 

Bev shot him a look. “And?” She said.

Stan laughed, and the sound made Mike’s heart sing. He pressed a thumb to Stan’s slacks, leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You look very handsome tonight.”

It made him lean into Mike’s shoulder. “So do you. I can barely handle it.” In any other situation, this would have made Mike lean over and bite Stan’s neck gently, kiss him until they were both panting. But they couldn’t. So, they just sat next to one another, pressed together watching Eddie and Beverly fuss. 

Around seven they finally started downstairs, Eddie and Bev still snipping at one another, Bill, Ben, and Richie all standing in the foyer. When Ben laid eyes on Beverly he gasped loudly and smiled so huge that it was as if he was seeing her on their wedding day. She was beautiful, it was true. 

When they arrived at the high school gym and handed their tickets one by one to Greta Bowie, who sneered at Beverly, they looked more like a ragtag team of misfits than ever, following the glittering queen that was Ms. Marsh.

The gym, usually lit with low-burning fluorescents, was dark now, lit only by dangling string lights and hundreds of tiny tea lights that covered each of the tables. Mike slipped two fingers into Stan’s palm and he gripped it, pulling him ever so slightly along behind him. They entered as a group, moving together as a pack and found their table, taking up the seats there. It was a table set for seven, which was strange only because the other nine tables all had eight spots at them. Mike supposed whoever made up the seating chart wasn’t going to subject anyone else to the Losers’ shenanigans.

The prom was great – very “lowkey” Richie put it later. The food was tolerable, the music was fantastic, and they spent the whole night dancing and laughing with one another. Of course, there was drama, none of which belonged to them, thankfully, but what’s a high school dance without Sally Mueller sobbing in the bathroom about Peter Gordon making out with Tanya Robertson in the empty cafeteria. Beverly heard all this as she was being nostalgic in the bathroom stall, sucking down a cigarette and texting Ben with the other hand. 

When prom finally ended, they had barely noticed that it had passed by. They were enjoying themselves too fully. But Bill’s parents were out of town visiting his grandmother in Bangor and wouldn’t be back until the following Tuesday. So, they had places to be. 

The seven of them funneled into the living room of Bill’s parents house, Beverly throwing herself on the couch, her dress riding up her thigh. Mike picked up her legs one by one and dropped himself on the end seat, letting her feet rest on his lap. He started unstrapping her shoes and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat.

“My hero,” she said.

Eddie and Bill were helping a struggling Richie out of his dress shirt, pulled halfway over his head, Eddie alternating between cursing at him and laughing. Ben came around the back of the couch, leaned down and gave Bev a kiss. Mike felt a presence at his elbow and looked up into the tired, smiling face of Stan.

Did they really have to continue to keep this a secret? He wanted nothing more than to lean up, give Stan a kiss, much like Ben was giving Beverly now. He knew Stan wasn’t ready, couldn’t be ready, and he wasn’t going to make him be ready because if he was totally honest with himself, he was entirely ready either. But then looking up into the face of his boyfriend of nearly two years, it was hard to imagine anything less than being out, loud, crazy, completely and totally in love with him. 

Richie finally got his shirt off, standing with his hands on his hips, flexing his arms a little bit. “Alright boys and girl, who wants to play spin the bottle?”

Beverly sat up a little bit and let Eddie take the seat under her head, settling it back in his lap. He absentmindedly stroked her hair and shot Richie a look. “You’re incorrigible.” 

Rich ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, and?”

“I thought you wanted to watch movies and cry about our futures?” Stanley said, and Mike giggled, dropping Bev’s heels on the carpet behind him, letting his arm linger around Stan’s waist. 

Richie took this opportunity to sit on Beverly’s lap, every person underneath him letting out an ‘OOF’ of discomfort. “I cried about that weeks ago Staniel, I know I don’t have one.”

“That’s not funny, Richie.” Bill said, putting a glass in his hand. From where Mike was sitting it smelled like there was rum in there. Then Bill was pressing one into his hands too, then Stan. Beverly took hers in both hands and tried to sip at it from her lounging position.

“No wait!” Bill said, stopping her. He held his own cup, a plastic one with a faded Mickey Mouse on the side, high. “A toast.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Richie stood up, then Bev, Ben coming in beside her, Stan, Eddie, and finally Mike. They all pressed in together, like they were trying to keep warm. Mike felt the skin of Stan’s arm rub up against his and lightning coursed through his body. He shivered. 

Bill held it up, clearing his throat. They let him, waiting for their unofficial leader to impart some sort of final wisdom, and all at once Mike was struck with each and every one of their beauty. Was this one of the last times they were going to see each other? He was suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to cry, to swallow these feelings whole, to breathe them in until they were all the same person. What was he going to do without them? Had there ever been or would there ever be anyone who could be closer than these seven human beings? He didn’t think so. His eyes started to burn, and he wiped away a budding tear with his thumb. Bill’s eyes seemed to be glistening as well. 

They all stood there in cool, awed silence. There was some sniffling and Mike felt Stan press his hand so that it fit with his; Mike gave a gentle squeeze. Richie, of course, broke the quiet. 

“Shit, Bill,” he sniffled. “You have such a way with words.”

Ben punched him in the arm and Richie apologized, looking at the ground. 

Bill caught his breath again, lifted his cup a little higher. “Um. I’m going to miss you guys. More than anything I could possibly put into words. I uh…anyway. To the Losers.”

He put his cup in the middle of their circle and the others followed suit, clinking them all together. Mike put the cup to his lips, took a sip. It was definitely rum, and it burned as he swallowed, the taste sweet and warm on his tongue. Like home, the embrace of a memory.

He held the cup in his two hands, looked around at the others. Everyone was in some form or another hiding their tears. But then, like bubbles rising to the surface of a boiling pot, they began to laugh. It started with Stan, who put his palm over his eyes, and at first Mike thought he was crying, and his chest hurt, but then he saw that he was smiling. And then Mike started laughing too. Soon they were all laughing, a high, happy sound, that filled the far corners of the room and they were collapsing in on themselves, absolutely losing it. They were collapsing in on themselves, falling onto the floor and sinking into the couch, spilling their drinks but just laughing, an absolutely wonderful noise. Mike was leaning into Stan, who had pressed his face into Eddie’s neck. 

Bill wiped at his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.”

They spent the next three hours sprawled out on the living room floor, a movie playing ignored in the background. They talked, had some drinks, played some games, talked about the next few weeks. Graduation was on its way, what should they do this summer? They should go to Pride, in Bangor, for sure, they should drive down to Florida, to New York, to Boston, get on a train, go to Chicago, drink too much, sleep a little, blow it up as if it is the last summer they’ll ever see. This last sun-drenched season had to be theirs because sure, they would see each other over breaks, see each other on long weekends, there was Christmas, Easter, Spring Break, but it was different. Mike knew it was different, because it was. They all knew it. It was bittersweet.

Mike was melting further and further into the floor, nestled up among some blankets and pillows. Stan was thrown over his legs, his stomach resting on the top of his shins. Bill and Ben were smashed together on the couch, Ben curled up in Bill’s lap, his arms thrown around his neck.

He could barely tell what they were saying, only that they were all laughing. Eddie had passed out maybe thirty minutes ago, curled up into Bev’s side like a cat. She was running her hands through his hair as she listened to Richie and Bill banter back and forth.

“I want a cute boy to sit on my lap!” Richie said, crawling on hands and knees toward the couch, salaaming in front of Ben and Bill before collapsing on the ground. Stan was giggling; all Mike could hear were bells, tiny bells.

“You can have him another time this is my B-Ben time, Richie.” Bill hugged Ben tight around the middle, nuzzling his face into Ben’s chest. 

“I think it’s time for Ben to have his own time, I’m tiiiiiirreeeeddddd!” Ben said, flailing himself backwards over the arm of the couch. 

Bev let out a huge yawn and Mike, seeing this, let one out too. Stan looked up at him. “Uh-oh, looks like Mikey is also almost down for the count.” He gave him a snarky grin. Mike ruffled Stan’s curls. For a moment, it seemed like he was leaning into the touch. 

Another round of yawns circled the remaining awake, and Bev slapped her hands on her thighs, causing Eddie to stir ever so slightly. “Alright, bedtime y’all, I’m making breakfast in the morning.”

Richie tried to make a snarky comment in response, but he was already curling himself around Eddie, forming a perfect little crescent moon. “Mmmm, breakfast.” Mike thought he heard him whisper. He himself was wriggling down into the blankets, pulling one ever so slightly over himself and a little on Stan as well, offering him a tired smile. 

Ben climbed off Bill and went down to the sleeping bag Bev had set up for them earlier in the night, dropped his face into the pillow. Beverly climbed over to him, yawning and letting herself snuggle up into her boyfriend. Bill stretched his legs out, taking up the whole couch and pulling the knit blanket folded on its top over his legs. 

“Hey,” Mike said and the remaining few looked at him, their eyes drooping. He looked at them, letting his eyes finally rest on Stan’s. 

“I love you guys, you know?” He sniffed. “I love you, so much.”

There was silence, then some sniffling, sleepy dream-lit smiles. Bill put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at him. 

“We love you too, Mikey.” He said, and they all agreed. Mike wiped at his eyes, nodded, smiling. 

One by one, they lay down their heads. Mike could hear the tell-tale signs of sleep – light, shallow breathing, Richie whispering about something – a sandwich shop? Whatever that meant. – mumbles of content. Mike looked over at Stan, who was laying on his back, his hands folded over his stomach, his chest rising and falling gently. In about fifteen minutes, Mike knew, he would roll over onto his side, his arm tucked up under his head, his knees tucked up towards his chest. 

Mike moved a strand of curl out of Stan’s closed eyes, kissed him on the forehead and snuggled down, pressing his nose against his shoulder. Then, within minutes, he was fast asleep.

 

“Mike.” It was a far-off sound, like a whisper across a far reach. “Mikey.” 

He was awake, but how? It couldn’t possibly be morning already. He let his eyes remain closed, stuck in the in between place of sleep and awake, the place where dreams begin to fade. 

“I know you’re awake,” It was a sound in his ear, then he felt, was it? Yes, it was teeth, on his ear. He made a soft groaning sound and let his eyes flutter open.

The room was still dark, he let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Stan had rolled over next to him, rested his hand on Mike’s chest. The room was coming into focus little by little and Mike turned his head. He could see the faint outlines of Stan’s face, mere inches from his own. 

“Hey,” Mike whispered, hoping his breath wasn’t absolutely disgusting. He reached out, touched Stan’s face, tried not to poke him in the eye with what little he could see. He ran his thumb over his lips, leaned forward carefully, listening to the sounds of the others’ breathing, gave him a soft kiss. Stan returned it fully, pressing more fervently into Mike, bringing himself so that their bodies were together tightly. The feeling made Mike’s heartbeat rise. _Christ._

When he finally pulled away, Stan whispered back, “I knew you were awake.”

“Of course, baby. Are you okay?” He rolled onto his side, feeling Stan’s chest up against his, and he could feel his heart, Stan’s, pounding in response to his own, like racing war drums.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for waking you up,” His boyfriend responded.

“You’re fine, I’m awake,” He asked, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes. “Why are _you_ awake?”

He felt the brush of lips against his own, held that kiss there for a lingering moment, breathed in the sandalwood and cinnamon that was Stan. It lit a thousand candles in his chest and he was floating it seemed.

“I’m,” Stan whispered. They were breathing the same air. “I’m trying to be brave.” 

Mike blinked in the dark at him. Brave? Trying to be brave? Was he not brave enough already? 

Stan was sitting up, his hands groping for Mike’s and pulling him up too. “Babe? What are you doing?”

It was then he felt hands run up his chest, rest on his neck and cheek, a slow soft kiss on his collarbone. Air rushed his head for a moment, nearly dizzy, and he melted into the kiss.

Stan looked up at him, or so he assumed, he could feel his shaky breaths on his chin. He turned his head down, pressed his forehead against Stan’s. 

“I want you to make love to me.”

A small laugh escaped him like a bark and he covered his mouth, hoping the sound hadn’t been too loud. His heart stopped. Maybe he had hallucinated it. No, no that was what he said, whispered here in the dark. “Uh, I –” 

“It sounds silly I know. But I’ve been thinking about this a long time and –”

“No, no, that’s not it at all, I just…”

“You don’t want to?”

“ _No!_ No that’s not what I mean either…”

Stan ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Wow, could a heart beat this fast without exploding in someone’s chest? There was no way. A thousand things were coursing through his mind. Was he serious? Was he sure? Was he himself ready and sure and serious? 

Mike replied with a kiss. “I love you. And I want you to be sure.” 

For a moment he thought that Stan had changed his mind. “Baby,” Mike said, barely a husk of his actual voice.

“ _Say it again,_ ” Stan whispered.

Mike purred. “ _Baby._ ”

A hand pressed into his, the only sounds the soft breathing of the others. He followed Stan through the dark, his heart racing a hundred miles an hour, followed him, up the stairs, taking a short left, careful not to hit any of the creaky steps. They had each taken these stairs a million times over the last few years, up to Bill’s room, crashing in the guest room, rummaging through Bill’s parents’ room for knick-knacks, avoiding the never-ending presence of Georgie’s room. They knew where they were. 

They went into the guest room, the one with the little bathroom off the side, Stan flipped on one of the bedside lamps. Mike closed the door quietly behind him.

The room was small, one queen-sized bed pressed into the middle of the wall, flanked on either side by end tables. The one lamp Stan had turned on gave the room an eerie orange glow that cast a wide circle across the carpeted floor, the plain navy-blue comforter. Stan was standing, the remains of his prom outfit wrinkled from falling asleep on the floor. Mike was sure he himself looked a mess, maybe a handprint on his cheek where it had laid tucked up under him. He blinked at Stan, then looked nervously at the floor. He could barely catch his breath. Wow, they were really going to do this. He was going to do this. They were going to have sex. _Christ._

They stood in a stupid silence for what felt like eternity, Mike shifted from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at him. His throat felt thick and heavy and he kept trying to swallow, found it difficult. A bloom had taken to Stan’s cheeks and stayed there, burning like a quick fever. Mike went carefully to the edge of the bed, let his hand drop to the comforter. It was soft, warm. He looked at Stan out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ve…” He started, and Mike jumped a little at the crack in his voice. “I have never been more sure of something in my life. With you…it’s easy to be sure. Because I love you now, and have loved you for a long time, and I’ll probably die loving you.”

Mike started blushing himself, felt his eyes burn. Could he explain his love for this one boy? He didn’t think so. Stan had always been better with words, he thought. Stan came to him, took each of his hands. “I want this…if you do…”

Mike struggled to catch his words. “Yes. I do. But even if we didn’t…” He kissed him. “I would love you to the end of the world.”

The next few moments, looking back, were a blur, pressing kisses into one another, hands roaming, their panting growing heavier and louder. Mike unbuttoned Stan’s shirt with trembling fingers, pulled it back from his shoulders, gave him a hard kiss on each collarbone. Stan moaned into his chest, undoing his shirt as well and pulling it up over his head, letting it fall haphazardly on the floor. They went to the bed, kneeling in front of one another. They’d seen this in movies, had the basic information thrown at them by parents, television, Richie in one form or another. But they had never experienced this new flavor of bliss with one another. They took it slow, though the burning in their stomachs and the wanting of their souls told them to hurry, be quick about it. 

Stan handed Mike a condom he had apparently stolen from Ben and that made it more real than before. Mike looked at it with faraway eyes, unsure of what it was for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. “You want me to?”

“Yes.” Stan shrugged, laughing anxiously. “Maybe, we can try it another way some other time.”

That was an interesting thought. Mike couldn’t imagine this was happening now, and there could be _another_ time? God.

They were kneeling on the bed, their legs crossed underneath them, sitting in their underwear, staring at each other. They didn’t move. All Mike could think was god he is so beautiful, I can barely believe it. Then Stan leaned over, turned off the light, got under the covers. Mike followed him, pressing his body close to Stan’s. They were both too hot to the touch.

It was…in so many words…terrifying. He was nervous, afraid, he didn’t want to hurt him he wanted this to be perfect, wanted it to feel _good_ for both of them, and when it first started, pushing forward slowly, Stan made a small sound in the back of his throat and Mike stopped dead cold, sure he had already ruined it. But then Stan had whispered, “It’s okay, I’m fine, really,” and so he’d kept going, carefully still. They’d waited a moment, breathing in the moment, Mike kissing Stan every second, every second, letting him direct this, letting him tell him what he wanted. 

“I love you,” Mike said, breathless. 

Stan had their heads pressed together, his hands on either side of his face. Mike could feel him shaking. Or maybe that was he himself. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. 

“I love you too.”

It was slow, soft. Perfect, their breathing mixing together making the air heavy, humid, they kissed, messy, jagged, missing one another’s mouths too much, too often, laughing when they did because hey, this was easy, right? It wasn’t until Stan began making small moaning sounds in his ear that Mike felt the same, moving in one with him. They could have been there fifteen minutes, seconds, years, he didn’t know. But when it was done, tears running down his face, pressing into Stan’s neck, whispering _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , Stan replying, _I love you, I love you, god, so much, I love you_ , it felt as if they had lived a lifetime in this bed, sweating under too many blankets, giggling into one another, catching their breath.

They lay there, the sun beginning to peek up over the horizon on this new day, this bright happy day, Stan resting his head in the crook of Mike’s arm, tracing symbols into his chest. Mike couldn’t stop smiling and even though his eyes were closed, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. He supposed he could stay away for another thirty years and never get tired. 

“So,” Stan said. “Now what?”

Mike sighed, wracked his brain. He knew what this meant. Graduation was on its way. He had to make some big decisions. He knew _they_ would have to make some big decisions. They already knew they were going to try long distance, that was a non-issue. But what about all of the other things?

“I guess now,” He turned to Stan, kissed him on the forehead in the filtering sunlight of the blooming sunrise. “We come out.”

 

Mike came out on his birthday, three weeks after prom and one after graduation, telling his mom first. He approached her before the party they were having in his honor, asked her to take a walk with him. She had a concerned look on her face as they walked the meadow behind the barn along the horse path. He was so nervous, he remembered, shaking and close to vomiting. His mom was watching him, her shoulder length natural hair flipping about in the breeze.

“Mikey, you okay?” He thought she wondered if he was in trouble, but they both knew he was on the straight and narrow. He’d only ever got a parking ticket. Eighteen years and her boy had always stayed out of trouble. Sure, he had some interesting friends – she was sure she heard Tozier’s name uttered in terms of vandalization around the city sometimes – but they had not been a negative influence on her only boy.

Mike, as he walked beside his mother, hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, played through a multitude of scenarios in his head.

He tells her, she freaks out, disowns him, kicks him out.

He tells her, she starts crying, says she’s failed as a mother, disowns him, kicks him out. 

He doesn’t tell her, nothing happens. 

He says nothing, she guesses it, disowns him, et cetera, et cetera. 

But what if he tells her and she’s okay, she says she loves him, no matter what. He tells her that he’s in love with Stan, that he likes girls and boys, that he loves all kind of people. He tells her that he wants to marry Stan someday, he’s never been so happy, and she weeps with him, tells him to invite Stan over, she’d always liked him, they have dinner, his dad is supportive happily ever, et cetera, et cetera. He didn’t want to assume anything yet, but it was difficult not to. 

They were almost to the tree line and his mom reached out, took his arm. “Mikey,” she said, trying to catch his eyes. “What’s going on?”

He watched her, those eyes of hers unlike his own, hers were green and blue and brown, but he was everywhere else in that face. Genuine, soft, sweet, like home. Worry was written there…what if it turned to disappointment?

“Mama,” he started, looking shakily at the ground. Bile was building in the back of his throat and he tried to swallow, found his mouth dry. He had to do it. He couldn’t just make his mother get all worried and leave her hanging there.

“Mama, I,” he looked at the ground, his heart racing. “Mama, I’m bi…and…and I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

She blinked at him. Her face gave no indication of what she was thinking or feeling, she just blinked. His chest was tight, like maybe he was on the verge of a heart attack, and his mouth was filled with that sour taste once more and he thought for sure he was going to puke now. She had taken his hands when she asked what was going on but now, she had let one of them fall. His eyes began to prickle, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out aside from a sad, wilted squeak.

“Mama,” the word was choked, cracking on the second syllable. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed, her eyes watery, and he wondered if that was the breeze or actual tears. Disappointed tears. She put a palm against his cheek and he made a hiccupping sound, trying to keep his cool. 

“Michael,” She never called him Michael. She was one of those parents who only used full names when the person in question was in trouble. He was in trouble. 

“Michael, baby,” she said, her lips a line. “You are so loved. Regardless of who you love.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he broke down in her arms, wrapped around his middle where she could properly reach him. And he cried into her shoulder, and she squeezed him tighter. 

“Is this where you’ve been? These last few years?” She asked, putting him at arm’s length. He wiped his eyes, sniffled. “Keeping this secret?” He nodded, sniffled again.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” He said.

His mother shook her head. “You shouldn’t have had to tell me. You could have brought someone you loved home and that would have been good enough for me. Because I love you.”

He leaned their foreheads together and breathed deeply. He was so much taller than her…how did that happen? But there was another question that needed answering.

“What about dad?” He said. It was short and clean. He was afraid of the answer he might get. 

His mother sighed, a worrying sigh and Mike gulped. “Your dad…he’s a good man. And I know that no matter what, he will accept you.” She brushed a finger across his forehead and cupped his cheek again. “Because if he doesn’t, then he and I will have a problem.” She laughed, and Mike followed suit. They went back to the house, hand in hand, and waited for Will Hanlon to come home.

 

He came home right before the party started, not enough time to talk to him, not enough time to have an actual meaningful conversation. The house filled with people, his aunts and uncles and cousins, some kids from the football team, and of course, the Losers.

Whenever the others were around, regardless of the situation at hand, Mike felt at ease. His mom had cooked a full-blown feast, barbecue ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, a few vegetarian options for Stan – this was before Mike officially switched to vegetarianism – and one of Mike’s cousins, cornbread for Richie. He had once cried – literal tears – to Mike while drunk about how he would readily die for Mama Hanlon’s cornbread, as if she, or the inanimate object that was a side option, would ever ask or require him to do so. Mike had of course told her and since then whenever she knew Richie would be in attendance at some function or another, she would make it, loading it up in Tupperware dishes for him to take home and hide away until the next time he came over.

Throughout the party, Mike alternated between watching his father, grizzled with the day’s work but smiling and laughing, and looking at Stan, who would steal glances over at him, grinning and blushing, then continue n whatever conversation he was currently in. He wanted to catch his dad before it was too late, before the evening wound down and he was too tired to have such a huge talk. When the cake finally came out, a quarter past seven, he had all but forgotten he needed to. His mother had put all their names on top of the cake in swirling, curling blue frosting – Ben, Beverly, Bill, Eddie, Richie, Stan, and Mike – with a festive “Happy Graduation!” with “and 18th!” crunched in under all of their names. Since the lot of them had become friends, Mike noticed is mother lumped them all as one like this. It was always, “the others,” or “the kids,” occasionally “the boys,” including Beverly as one of the boys, affectionately so. Since their first summer among the reeds and buzzing swarms of mosquitos down in the Barrens, even with Beverly moving away, they had existed as one entity, one breathing creature. Inseparable to the end. 

The rest of the night was more of the same, one long blur until about 9:45, when most of his family had gone and the others headed out to their houses, knowing they were going to meet up a little past midnight in the Barrens to have some stolen beers and pass out under the stars. 

Mike was in the pantry, putting away a few bags of chips that still had some life left in them. It was a spacious room, like a walk-in closet for food. He had his back to the door, taking the rolled-up bags and placing them in what could be considered their designated spot on the shelf when there was a quiet knock on the wall behind him. He turned sharply and broke into a soft smile, Stanley leaning against the doorjamb. Stan was blushing, a trait Mike noticed had increased since…well since prom. 

“Hi,” Mike said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” Stan replied. “I’m headed out, just wanted to tell you happy birthday again.” 

Mike smiled, brushed the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Well, thank you. Only a little longer and you’ll be here too.”

Stan nodded and peeked around the doorway. Apparently seeing he was in the clear, he stepped into the pantry, closing the space between him and Mike to mere inches. Mike’s breath caught in his throat. It was so exhilarating, being this close to one another, so close to being caught. Maybe he wanted to be caught. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“Maybe I’ll tell you happy birthday again later tonight?” Stan’s voice was low, and it purred in Mike’s ears, making his chest hot and then Stan’s hand was against the front of his jeans, pressing fervently. Mike made a quiet, animalistic sound and closed his eyes, his mind racing. He took Stan’s wrist gently in his own hands but didn’t push him away. 

“Baby,”

“Say it again,” Stan whispered, and Mike felt his breath against his own mouth and it made his knees weak. 

“ _Baby,_ ” Mike repeated. “You’re obsessed. Insatiable.”

Stan giggled quietly, pulled his hand away and held Mike’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You make me obsessed. I just…” he seemed to struggle to find the words. “I want to be around you all the time, try all the things we have only dreamed of. I want to find every –” He was inching his hand under Mike’s shirt now, his fingers testing the waistband of his pants. “Little spot. I want to taste every part of you. I want to do everything with you.” 

He shoved his hand down the front of Mike’s jeans and found that he was already hard and trembling, his breath coming in little hitches. His mouth fell open slightly and he licked his lips, felt Stan hold a kiss there with his own. He opened his eyes, looked into those deep, unyielding browns and quietly cleared his throat. 

“We have all the time in the world, my love.”

“Mikey?” His mother’s voice said from barely two feet away, they’d been so caught up in their closeness they hadn’t heard her approach and it was a scramble to pull away from one another, Stan quickly removing his hand from Mike’s pants, Mike trying to rearrange himself so he didn’t expose himself to his own mother, and then step away from one another, clear their faces and then she was standing in the doorway.

“I know you’re going out tonight but just be careful, you don’t want to get eaten alive by mo –” she stopped when she saw the two of them standing there, her face paling a little. _Shit, shit, shit,_ Mike thought. His heart was pounding away again in his chest, this time a mixture of fear and adrenaline. 

“Mosquitos.” She finished, putting her hands together in front of her chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Hanlon,” Stan said. Mike noticed his voice sounded small, scared, but he was hiding it behind a smile perfectly. 

“Hi honey,” she replied. “I could have sworn you left with Richie.” 

“Oh,” Stan ran a hand over the back of his neck. Mike saw he was wiping away a thin sheen of sweat that had built there. Subtle. He wondered if he was sweating badly too. He wondered if she noticed. God, he hoped she didn’t. He let his eyes wander for a moment, trying to steady his breathing but when he saw the outline of Stan’s cock in his pressed slacks, his breath hitched again. “No, he ended up leaving with Beverly, so I’ll drive back alone.”

His mother made a sound in the back of her throat, but smiled amiably enough. Maybe they would be in the clear. 

“Right, well, we’ll see you again in a few weeks for your birthday, right?” She sounded back to her normal self. She hadn’t noticed at all.

Stan nodded, made a move to take a step out. “Absolutely.” He gave Mike’s mom a soft kiss on the cheek and smiled at her. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Have a good night, baby, drive safe.” She let him slip past her and stared at a place on the ground. In the living room, Mike heard the front door open and close.

Mike cleared his throat again, clasped his hands together in front of his crotch. Also subtle there, Michael. “Dinner was great tonight, mama, thank you for making it.” She turned to him, stared at him. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. It was distant, cold, but not…angry. Her clear eyes were boring into him, watching him, studying the lines on his face, the cool sweat that had drawn on his brow, the way he couldn’t keep those clear, blue-green eyes.

She still hadn’t said anything for a moment, so Mike figured it would be wise to leave. He took a careful step forward and tried to shimmy past her. At the last moment, she took his bicep in her hand and turned him to face her. 

“Mikey,” she said. He swallowed hard. He was done for. Maybe it was okay if he liked boys, sure, yes, it’s always good in theory, never in practice, and especially not under her roof. His heart was skipping now, the drumline they play before a hanging execution. Was that not what this was? Disappointment meant more to him than he’d previously realized. 

But she just stared at him, a line creasing her forehead, a wisp of hair falling off the side of her face, framing it. He thought maybe she was going to cry. 

She released his arm, patted him gently on the chest and gave him a soft smile. “Your daddy is in the living room. If you still want to talk to him.”

A weight lifted off him and he nodded, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead and going out of the kitchen.

His father was sitting in the easy chair facing the TV, the footrest pulled up so he could recline properly. He looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep, maybe he should just wait until tomorrow, or next week, or you know never –

“Did you have a good birthday, Mikey?” His dad said, his voice deep and strong. Mike wondered if his voice would ever sound like that. His dad had never seemed like anything less than a man with that booming voice of his and he wondered if even as a kid he had had a voice like that. He couldn’t imagine his dad ever being a child, even though he had seen baby pictures. 

“Yes sir,” Mike said, coming around the side of the chair and sitting on the couch, separated by a small side table. There were a few coins on the surface of the table and Mike fiddled with the dime, turning it repeatedly on its face with his fingernail. He couldn’t look at him.

Will Hanlon laughed. “Sir,” he said. “You have always been too polite for your own good.”

“You taught me well, I guess,” Mike laughed and began picking at a rogue string that had popped out the side of the couch, smiling at his fingertips. He could hear his mother clearing the table and running the sink to clean plates. Could she hear them?

“You got that from the Good Woman in there, not me,” his father said, leaning up a little in the recliner. “You and the kids going out to raise hell tonight?”

“Not hell, we’re just going to hang out and maybe watch some movies.”

Will _hmm_ ’d. “Richie was talking about something to do with blankets, the Barrens. That boy has a mouth on him.” Mike laughed.

“Sorry about him. We’ve tried to train him, but he just won’t listen,” He cleared his throat, thought about Stan’s eyes, the way they had looked in the pantry not ten minutes ago. “We might go look for shooting stars.”

“Well, be careful, don’t cause too much trouble. I don’t want to have to pick you up from jail for joyriding or something.” Looking back, the conversation had seemed like such a throwaway. Of course he would be careful, what could possibly go wrong? But barely a year later...everything changed. That little throwaway conversation became a staple of Mike’s everyday life. Oh, how things could change.

“No joyriding tonight, promise.” Mike held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Will nodded, looked over at his only son. “You alright, Mikey? You seem far away.”

Mike looked up. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking.”

“About what? You look like you’re trying to unlock the secrets of the universe in that string there.”

Mike dropped his hands from the unraveled string and laughed nervously. “Sorry,”

His dad sat up fully. “Don’t be sorry. Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

Looking at his dad now, he realized the fullness of his actions. He might lose everything if this conversation didn’t go well. He didn’t want to lose his dad. Not like this. This reflection of himself that was his father was watching him with such intensity and concern that he thought maybe he shouldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t risk the adverse reaction he might get even for the small fraction that it might go as well as it did with his mother. Had he ever heard his father say anything about how he felt about gay people, bisexual people, transgender people? He couldn’t say one way or another. And for some reason the not knowing scared him more than anything else.

“Mike?” His dad said, and Mike came back to the moment.

“Yeah, sorry, um, so, I wanted to tell you something,” He swallowed but it was like trying to swallow a fist. “But I’m not sure what to think.”

“Well I think you’ll find that I’m a very good listener.”

Mike nodded, looked at the skin around his fingernails. “Dad,” he took a shaky breath, tried to swallow over that fist-sized lump in his throat again. “I wanted to tell you that, um.” His eyes started burning and he blinked hard. He didn’t want to cry right now. 

Will sat silently and waited.

“I’m uh, I just wanted to tell you that…well, that I maybe don’t…maybe I don’t just…like girls…” He paused briefly, looked up and then down again. “I don’t want you to hate me and I didn’t know how to tell you because I just want things to stay the same and I really don’t want you to hate me because I didn’t choose for this to happen and I’m sorry. And…yeah. Um. Yeah.” He cleared his throat again and waited.

It was quiet for a moment and Mike looked up at his dad. He was looking at his own hands which were folded on his stomach in a sort of prayer fashion. The water was still running in the kitchen, his mother putting plates in the cabinets now. Mike could hear the familiar soft banging of the doors as they were opened and closed, the clatter of the plates and glasses as they were stacked on top of one another. His dad was nodding, as if mulling what was said over. The clock over the muted TV ticked mockingly. Mike watched the second hand make its way around the face. A full minute passed. 

He turned back to his dad, took in a shaky deep breath that sounded like the beginnings of a sob. But he wouldn’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t do it.

“Dad,” he said, his voice cracking. “Dad can you say something.”

He didn’t respond. He took in a long breath through his nose, it whistled a little. Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat, began to pick at the string on the couch again. He could feel it give a little as he tugged on it, maybe it was the end of a broken piece that needed to come out anyway. It was breaking off into little tufts now in his fingers.

“So,” his dad said, and Mike jumped. “You’re…what…gay?” He said ‘gay’ in such a way that Mike cringed a little. It wasn’t pleasant.

“Well, no. I’m um,” god was he going to have to say it all again? “Bi…um, I like boys and girls…” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, focused harder on the string again.

His dad was nodding in his seat. “Well, okay.”

Mike looked up. Okay? “Yeah?”

Will shrugged. “I guess all I can say is that, well…you’ll have to choose a side someday, I guess. Your aunts and uncles might not understand.”

Mike’s heart fell into his stomach. This wasn’t bad, but it sure as shit wasn’t good. “That’s not really how it works, dad.” He said quietly.

His dad sat up in his seat, finally took a full look at his son. “Well, I guess I don’t understand how it works,” His voice was kind and trying to understand, Mike thought, but that didn’t ease his mind completely. “But I do know that I love you no matter what and well, I just want you to be happy.”

He looked up at his father, his eyes attempting to swim. He was sitting in his chair, leaned back as far as he could go and staring at the ceiling. He didn’t glance over when Mike stood, flattening his shirt against his stomach and took a step towards him. He didn’t even glance over when Mike said with a tired voice, “I love you too dad. Please don’t hate me.”

It wasn’t until Mike was almost to his room that he heard his dad reply, in an equally quiet voice. “I could never hate you, son.”

 

That was so long ago now, it seemed, over moons and suns and seasons, so long ago that he had come out and since then, things had changed. He no longer hid who he was around his friends or family. Sure, the Losers knew he was bi, but that didn’t change anything with them. They figured he was waiting for the right person to be with. Richie called them the Bi-Cycle Squad, to which Bev also belonged, but Richie said she didn’t get to play right now because she was in a relationship. Mike supposed he’d pulled himself from the group by dating Eddie, and if that were the case, had Mike really ever been part of it himself? He’d been dating Stan well before any of that. It didn’t matter, it was fun, regardless.

November moved slowly forward, the air growing colder. The news said snow would be upon them soon and it came suddenly. The Losers awoke the morning of the 15th to a fresh blanket of snow. It was an immediate excitement.

“Snow fort! Snow fort! SNOW FORT!” Richie exclaimed, pulling on what he considered snow pants but were just an old pair of sweats, his coat, and a pair of Beverly’s fluffy boots. He ran out into the backyard, immediately slipping on ice hidden under the snow and eating it. The others watched him from the window and doorway, pulling on their own assortment of warm clothes, watching him roll over and start making a snow angel to make up for the fact that he was on the ground.

Bill watched from the sink, drinking coffee. Mike wondered if he was thinking of Georgie, reminiscing about the times they had had snowball fights in the first bouts of snow every winter. Stan was already outside, piling snow on top of Richie. Mike, Ben, Eddie, and Bev followed suit.

They spent most of the morning putting together a huge igloo, Ben directing them on how to build the bricks and put them together so they might have an actual domed roof and windows. Mike and Beverly were in charge of building the bricks and they did so willingly, their fingers freezing through their gloves but they didn’t care.

Mike watched Stan, who was standing with Ben, his cheeks rosy and frosted, arms crossed over his chest, listening to Ben explain how they would build the roof, flatten the floors until they were smooth enough to slide over. He was wearing a blue coat that he had bought him for Christmas last year, a nice downy one that almost made you too hot, even when it was freezing out. He didn’t have a hat on and Mike made a mental note to buy him one of those for Christmas this year.

Bev was patting down the top of her current brick, sniffling to keep her cherry red nose from dripping on her work. 

“Bev?” Mike said, not looking at her. Something was forming in his head.

“Mmmm?” She replied, also not looking up. She finished her current brick and carefully put it in a pile which Eddie would then put in the wall. 

“You love Ben, right?” Where was he going with this? He didn’t know yet.

“That would be correct.” Bev said, beginning work on the next brick. Mike tossed a snowball from hand to hand, watching as Stan took a steaming cup of hot chocolate from Bill, smiling.

He nodded. “Do you ever think about your future?” 

Bev sat back on her haunches, finally looked up at him. Her blue-green eyes swam from beneath her black and green trapper hat. “I mean, yeah. Why, did he say something to you?” She looked over at where he was standing with Stan and Bill beside him. They were laughing at Richie who, of course, had got himself stuck trying to climb out of the igloo through the window.

Mike waved a hand at her. “No, no nothing like that. I was just wondering, how you know, if it’s time.”

Bev squinted at him, puzzled. “Time for what?”

Mike dropped the snowball. His hands were starting to freeze. He dusted the snow from his gloves. “I dunno, sorry, it’s silly.” He kneeled, starting work on the brick that had been sitting in front of him for maybe twenty minutes or so. She scooted over to him, helped him pile the still falling snow on top. 

“No, it isn’t silly. What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Time to make a future, you know.” 

Bev gave him a coy smile. “What are you trying to say, Mikey?"

He laughed, smiled up at her quickly, then back down at his brick. “Time to make a future with someone. You know, make plans.”

She slapped her hands on her knees and looked over at the group of boys now pulling and pushing Richie from the window, slipping and sliding in the snow. Stan was laughing so fully it was intoxicating. “Why do you have someone to…make a future with? Make plans?”

Her voice was telling, saying she had some idea. He wondered if she really did. It wouldn’t surprise him. “I might.” He did.

Bev made a coughing laugh sound. “Is that so, Mr. Hanlon? And who is this special someone? Someone so special you couldn’t even tell your best friends?”

Mike frowned. He knew this might come up. His stomach roiled. What kind of friend was he really? “It’s…complicated.”

She put a hand on his and he looked up at her. Her eyes were soft and forgiving. It made him rest a little easier. “We will wait until it’s not complicated.”

He smiled at her, hiccupped. He finished the brick and moved it to a separate pile, turning a little to watch the progress of Richie being pulled from the window. He damaged the wall a little bit but not much, and they were all throwing snow at one another now, Eddie telling them to stop fucking around and fix what Richie messed up but not before Richie tackled him and then they were laughing too. Beverly took his gloved hand once more. He turned to her.

“Is this very special person a very special boy or a very special girl? I don’t know if I can handle to competition. Audra is enough.”

Mike chuckled. “You will continue to be outnumbered, my dear.”

 

The snow continued to fall for two more days, stopped, then started up again, quieting the city. It was nice. The fort, more so a house, was done. They could sit in it, read, enjoy their coffee and cocoa out there, whatever they wanted. Ben had run an extension cord out there so they could use an electric blanket sometimes too, placed over a fluffy sleeping bag it was the perfect place to get away, enjoy the silence. 

Stan and Mike went out there one Saturday to lay under the now-ice roof, listen to music. The other Losers were out, doing their own things, relaxing around town, running errands. Mike was staring at the ceiling. His heart was pounding.

Stan laid next to him, eyes closed, bumping along to the Bon Iver song that was playing. _Re: Stacks_ , Mike thought. It had been Stan’s favorite back during freshman year. 

“What are our plans for Christmas?” He asked, and Mike jumped, looked over at him. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink. He was so beautiful.

“Uh, I don’t know, probably dinner. Presents Christmas Eve. Church then too.” 

Stan nodded. “I think we’re lighting candles this year. My mom’s grandmother is coming to visit, and she still celebrates, I guess. You’re welcome to come if you’d like.” He turned over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Mike did the same. Keep a straight face, keep a straight face.

“Yeah, your parents wouldn’t mind?” He asked.

Stan smiled. “Naw, they love having you around.” He leaned over and kissed his carefully on the mouth. Despite it being so cold out here, the blanket was keeping them warm, and Stan’s mouth was hot to the touch. “ _I_ love having you around.”

Mike chuckled. “Then I would love to come.” He leaned his head down on the pillow, its cool surface chilling his burning cheeks. God, he hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“Good, then maybe I can spend Christmas with you and your family?” Stan was watching him intently, and it made Mike more nervous.

“Yeah, definitely, yeah, that’d be…uh, that’d be great.” 

He felt Stan’s hand on his cheek, looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Stan’s eyebrows were drawn close together. Mike pulled away, buried his eyes in his arm.

“What?” He said muffled from beneath his coat. He stared at the sleeping bag, trying to steady his breathing.

“What, you what. You seem far away.” Stan said. His voice was concerned. Mike swallowed. 

“I’m fine.” He replied.

Stan probably rolled his eyes here and hunkered down to get on Mike’s level. “Yeah, okay. What’s wrong though? I’ve known you long enough to know when you’ve got something on your mind.”

This is when Mike looked up. Fuck it. Be brave. Be brave like Stan was all those years ago. Be fucking brave. He rolled over, sat up. He could barely register the fact that his heart was beating it was going so fast. 

Stan watched him do this, his eyes now reading worry. Don’t worry baby, Mike thought. This will all be over soon.

“So, I’ve been thinking.” He paused, sighed, his breath catching a little. Stan waited. He was patient, bless him.

Mike shifted in his spot, the warm electric blanket riding down his legs, and he caught a chill for a moment. Stan pulled it back up so that it covered up to where his coat was. Little things, it was always the tiniest things.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us. What we’re going to do, where we’re going to go, not just for the holidays.” He took Stan’s hands, uncovered by gloves but warm from the blanket. He wrapped them up in his own to keep them that same warmth.

Stan looked up into his eyes, watched him speak. His eyes were beginning to soften now, thank god. 

“Um, and, I think maybe, since school is over for me, but you want to go back next fall, I want to go um, with you, you know?”

Stan smiled softly. “Of course, baby, you should come. We can get an apartment together.”

Mike grinned. “Absolutely, yes, we should.” Now? Now.

“Maybe,” He reached into his coat pocket, trying to remain subtle. He could just keep it warm here, right? “Um, we could start saving up, to buy a house. Wherever you want to go.”

Stan was smiling bigger now, his perfect white teeth showing. “Yeah, I’ve got some money saved up we could totally do that!”

Mike laughed, his heart jumping into his throat. Now. “Maybe,” He pulled his hand out, clasped into a fist. “Maybe we could get married first.”

Now Stan laughed. “Yeah, totally, we should definitely do that.” It sounded like he was being sarcastic, and for the first time ever, Mike couldn’t tell if it was.  
'  
“Yes,” he said. “We should.” 

He opened his hand, palm flat, revealing a small, simple, gold ring. Stan took a moment and then looked down at his hand. His eyes grew wide, so wide that Mike thought he might be in shock. His mouth was still open, gaping and wide-eyed. His heart stopped, watching seventeen different emotions pass over Stan’s face, all varying degrees of confusion, and Mike was terrified for a moment. What did it mean…? 

Time seemed to drag out forever, and realization began to dawn on Mike. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t been ready, he was…he was going to say no.

“Mike, I…” He stuttered a little, looked up into his face and then back down at the ring.

“It was my grandfather’s. Given to my mother. She gave it to me when I turned 21, in case…”

“Mike…” Stan said again, little more than a whisper. His empty hand went to his mouth. There were tears in his eyes. 

“Please don’t cry, baby, I never wanted to –”

“Mike, that’s not it, it’s just…”

“I know, you aren’t ready.”

“No, I mean, baby,” Stan put a hand on his cheek, made him look at him.

“I could never be entirely ready…” The tears made his eyes shine, pools of amber and coppers. Mike’s were starting to burn too. His heart was starting to hurt. He pushed it too far, he was sure of it. “But I have never been more ready to marry you. I _will_ marry you.” 

Mike started laughing. “ _Yes?_ You’re saying yes?” 

He sat up in his spot, laughing too, taking his face in his hands, tears rolling down his face. “Yes, a thousand times yes, of course, I will marry you, yes, yes, _yes!_ ” He kissed him hard, then his cheeks each of them, many times, kissing away the tears that were threatening to freeze there on his skin and Mike couldn’t believe it his whole body was on fire, he said _yes!_

Stan pulled back, his hands still on Mike’s face, looking down at the ring.

“You’ll wear it?” He could feel hot tears sliding down his face, snow beginning to fall behind them.

He nodded fervently, put his hand out to take it. Mike, sniffling and trembling, pushed it onto his finger. It fit perfectly, like it was ridiculous, incredible fate. They stared at it there, shining in the grey daylight. “It’s beautiful, Mike. Absolutely perfect.”

“A perfect ring, for the perfect man.” They locked eyes and Mike could see their future panning out before him, a fall wedding, Stan always liked the fall, he could wear more layers, scarves, sweaters, then honeymoon in the islands or maybe the mountains, they could hike or ski or swim in the shallows of the ocean, buy a house, maybe in Atlanta, maybe in Bangor, close to their families, adopt when they were a little older, the other Losers could be the godparents, all of them, and they would grow old, sitting on a front porch somewhere, watching their grandchildren, and the Losers grandchildren grow up together. And they would be together. And that’s all that would matter.

“I love you,” Stan said.

“I love you too,” Mike replied, and they kissed.

The kiss stretched over lifetimes, and they broke it together. Mike could see everything in his boyfriend – no, fiancé’s – and he broke into a face splitting smile.

“We should celebrate, tell our families.” Stan said, his voice shaking.

Mike nodded and tried to stand, slipping on the quick smooth surface of the fort. They were choking on their laughter as they climbed out of the fort’s small door, and Mike tripped in the snow, but he didn’t care. Stan pulled him up and into a kiss again and they stood there with the beginning winter swirling around them, catching their breath and then they were off again to Mike’s car. He sprinted over, slipping once more on the ice but keeping his balance, getting in, turning the key in the ignition.  
He leaned over the center console, unlocking the passenger side door for Stan, who jumped in and took his face in his hands, kissing him hard. Mike could barely contain the smile that broke across his face, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Stan leaned back, breathless and red-cheeked, his eyes glittering. He couldn’t wait to look into those eyes for the rest of his life. Stan put his hand out and looked at the simple gold band again, gasping. 

“My god, Mike, I can’t…I just can’t even believe it,” He kissed him again. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” The car was starting to get warm now, the ice and snow on the windshield melting into a fine slush. He flipped the wipers and removed most of the debris. “You ready?”

This was when Stan paused, catching his breath. The look made his heart choke. It was a worried look. _Don’t say no, Stan, please, you just said yes._ He rested his palm against Stan’s cheek. It was still chilled; the flurry of snow having bitten it just so. “We don’t have to do this, if you aren’t ready.”

Stan shook his head, looking into Mike’s face. “No, I’m ready, I’m just nervous.” 

Mike kissed him, a long, soft kiss. “I’ll be with you. Forever. No matter what.” 

Stan giggled, nodded vigorously. “Let’s go, yes, let’s do it. I don’t want to lose my nerve.” He sat back in his seat and pulled his seatbelt on and clicked it into place. Mike followed suit, his face a constant smile. 

“Who should we call first?” Stan said.

“You choose, it’s up to you.” Mike put the car in drive, his foot planted firmly on the brake. 

Stan hesitated, staring at a spot on the dashboard. “God I’m in shock I can’t even think straight um…” He shook his head, his hands coming up in a _well_ stance and he laughed, such a full hearty laugh that Mike fell in love with him a little bit more. “Let’s call your parents first. So they know we’re on our way.”

Mike nodded, blew air out of his mouth in a calming fashion. “God, okay, yes, alright and then maybe the others? Maybe they’ll all be together, we can do a group call.” 

Stan was just nodding in agreement, smiling and laughing. “Yes, yes, okay. Alright, okay, let’s go!”

Mike pulled off the brake, pulled out onto the dirt road. “Hey Siri, call _The Good Woman._ ” He looked at Stan, placed his hand on top of his. Stan took them both, squeezed. 

“ _Calling_ the Good Woman.” Siri replied, and a ringing began through the car’s speakers. It made Mike’s heart start beating faster again. _Here it goes. He’s going to do it._

The phone rang maybe three times before there was a click and he could hear the TV muffled in the background. His mother breathed, and he could hear a smile in her voice when she spoke. “ _Hi baby, what are you doing?_ ”

“Hi mama, are you with dad?” He alternated between looking at the road and at his boyfriend – no he couldn’t say that anymore – fiancé. He looked like he was maybe going to cry. God Mike hoped happy tears.

“ _Yeah, he’s here. Is everything okay? You sound far away._ ” 

“No, I’m okay, you’re on speaker. Stan’s here.”

“H-hi.” Stan said, leaning toward the place where the phone was mounted, blushing. 

His mother paused, and Mike could practically feel her mulling things over. “ _Hi Stanley, how you doing honey?_ ” 

“I’m great, Mrs. Hanlon, really wonderful.” Mike squeezed his hands reassuringly and made a left turn towards town. Fifteen miles. 

His mom _mhmm_ ’d, and it was a happy knowing sound. How could she know? Did she know? No way, Mike thought. Maybe assumed. He didn’t care. He was too elated.

“ _You want me to go get your dad? Should I put you on speaker?_ ” 

“It’s nothing bad, mama, but if you want, that would be great.” Holy shit. What were they going to think? Were they going to be excited like he was, or disappointed? He hoped the former. God, please let it be the former.

“ _Okay,_ ” she replied, and pulled the phone away from her ear. He could hear the muffled sound of her speaking to his dad, her words too quiet to hear. His dad responded, his voice light and happy.

Suddenly there was a much louder sound of the TV then the slow turning down of it and his dad cleared his throat. For some reason, Mike did too. Instinctually. Here we go.

“ _Hey Mikey, how’s it going?_ ” His dad had such a deep voice it practically reverberated the speakers and Stan kissed his hand, his lips soft against his skin. It sent a shiver rioting through his body.

“Great dad, um, so me and Stan are coming over.” His voice began to shake. Why? Nerves were building in the back of his throat and he could taste them, a sour feeling that made his tongue feel fat and dry.

“ _Yeah, of course. What’s up?_ ” He wondered if they were looking at each other, confusion washing over them, or maybe they knew. Maybe they had always known. They had nearly been caught at the party, so close, too close for “just friends”. And he’d never brought anyone else over. 

“So, um, do you guys have any champagne?” Stan offered, his face bright. Perfect idea, Mike thought, of course, Stan was always full of perfect ideas.

Another pause. “ _I don’t think we have anything that fancy, but mom has some wine stashed away somewhere, I think. Why?_ ” Will asked.

“Well, um, dad,” Mike slowed at a stop sign, looked at Stan. Heart pounding. He just had to do it. “Um, well Stan and I are in the mood to celebrate. We um, we’re getting, um…married.”

There it was. That’s all it had to be. They idled at the stop sign, waiting, the heater whirring. 

At first there was a little sound, like a giggle. Or maybe it was the building of a sob. Mike put his free hand over his mouth and leaned against the steering wheel, resting his chin on the warming leather. _Please, please, god, please._

“ _Oh my god, Mikey,_ ” It was his mother’s voice. She was crying. _Oh no._

“ _Oh, Mikey, oh that’s so wonderful,_ ” His mother was crying and then she made a loud screaming cry of what Mike could only attribute to…triumph. Then his dad was laughing, and his mother was laughing, and the sound made Stan start laughing as well but the sound was mingled with tears and then Mike of course was crying too, laughing and smiling and it was _wonderful_. The sound of them all laughing and hooting and hollering, his dad saying over and over again, “ _We’re so happy for you Mikey, and you Stan, so, so happy!_ ” and his mom saying, “ _My baby is getting married! Oh, call your sister there has to be a party!_ ” and all he could think was _thank you, god_.

“ _You guys coming over right now? I gotta call your uncle and your mom –_ ”

“ _I’ll get out the fancy glasses, I don’t care, it’s got to be the fancy glasses!_ ”

There were tears streaming down Mike’s face, and he was sobbing, covering his eyes with his free hand. Stan was holding the other up to his mouth, kissing it a hundred, hundred times, and he was crying too. Mike was hiccupping, his heart so full he couldn’t believe it. He heard Stan’s seatbelt click and then his arms were around his shoulders. Mike leaned into it and then pressed his face into Stan’s neck, crying harder. He couldn’t believe it, he just couldn’t, they were happy for him, his _dad_ was happy for him! Stan was kissing his hair and his temples, and all the sounds of his parents’ excitement faded away and it was just them, the snow slowly covering the windshield, making the whole world soft and blurry. 

There was a ringing building in his ears and then he sat up, sniffling, wiping his eyes on the back of his coat sleeve and Stan pressed their foreheads together. His parents were still speaking, coming back into focus and he sat back, facing forward in his seat. He cleared his throat.

“ _…and drive safe coming over here, the roads are kind of slick, okay?_ ” His mom said, his dad trying to talk at the same time as her.

“ _…congratulations you two, Stan welcome to the family, we’re so glad to have you._ ” Mike laughed and coughed.

“Thank you, so much, I can’t even begin to…” Mike laughed again, the sound nasally. “I love you guys.” 

“ _We love you too, Mikey._ ” His dad said, and he felt like he was going to start crying again. Stan was smiling and wiping his eyes with his fingertips. “ _Now like your mom said, drive safe._ ” 

“Okay, we will, see you in a bit.” There was a multitude of ‘bye’s and then the phone beeped three times as the call ended. They were still at the stop sign, the windshield practically as covered now as when they first got in the car. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, sniffling, but Mike couldn’t break away from his smile.

It was Stan that spoke first. “That went far better than I was expecting. Holy shit.” Mike couldn’t reply yet, he could only nod. Stan put his hand on his knee. 

“Who next, my love?” He asked.

Mike looked up, took a deep hitching breath. “I love you,” He said. It seemed like the only thing he could say. 

Stan’s smile was so soft Mike felt tears well again in his eyes, but he blinked a few times to stifle them. “I love you too. Ready?”

Mike sat up straight and cleared his throat. “Yes, ready. Call Bill, maybe he’s with the others.”

“Can I invite him to your parents’?” Stan said, as if that was a real question. 

“Absolutely.”

Mike pulled away from the stop sign, thankful no one had pulled up behind him while he sat there idling. They drove on and Stan manually scrolled through Mike’s phone to find Bill. The phone rang over the speakers. Mike could see Stan fidgeting in his seat. He knew Bill would support them wholeheartedly, but it still made him nervous. Never necessarily outright said, he was the leader of their little band of misfits, and his blessing would make a huge difference. Almost as much as getting both of their parents’ approval. He knew Stan would want to tell his parents last anyway. It was easier this way.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. He could tell it was giving Stan anxiety, his fidgeting became more pronounced. His leg bounced up and down until Mike leaned over and put a gentle hand on his knee. Stan smiled and placed his own on top of it. 

When the call finally went to voicemail, Stan exhaled hard, sounding like relief. 

“ _Hey, it’s Bill, now, you say something._ ” There was a beep and Stan spoke, letting Mike look both ways at another stop sign and turning right. 

“Hey, Bill, it’s Stan, call us back when you get the chance and if you get this before we can talk meet us at Mike’s house. We have something to tell you.” He smiled like a schoolkid and hit the red ‘end’ button. 

“Okay,” Mike said. “Two down. Maybe he’s with Audra, or at work?”

“Let me call her then, hang on.” Stan was pulling out his own phone, scrolling through his phonebook and clicking on the screen. He held the phone to his own ear and waited. There was a bit of silence, and Mike hit a little patch of black ice. His heart picked up for a moment, tapped slowly on the brakes, bringing the car back to normal pace. 

“Hey, Audra, how are you?” Mike looked over, Stan smiling. He noticed that whenever Stan was on the phone with someone, he acted as though he were speaking to them in person. Same facial expressions, tone. Another reason he loved him. He could make a physical list. Maybe for their vows. But he was getting ahead of himself.

“Yeah, good, thanks! Yeah, no, everything’s fine, are you in town?” There was a pause while Audra presumably replied, and Stan chuckled. “Yeah absolutely. When will you guys be back this way?” He looked over at Mike and nodded. They were together.

“Well if it isn’t too late you should come to Mike’s parents’ house. We’re having a little get together. Yeah, no just a little thing you don’t have to…well if you want to bring champagne?” He was smiling at the ring on his finger again. Mike stroked his leg with his thumb.

“Well, yea um, is he there? Can I talk to him for just a second?” He pulled the phone away from his face, put it on speaker. 

“ _Yeah, here he is,_ ” Audra’s bell-like voice said and then there was a little bit of crackling. 

Mike focused on the lines of the road, slowly getting covered with snow and slush, surprised there were no other cars out. Of course, the weather probably deterred people from leaving the safety of their warm homes.

“ _Hey,_ ” Bill said, familiar and Mike got excited hearing him.

“Hey Bill!” He said, suddenly too filled with joy again to remain silent. 

“ _Oh, hey Mike, what are you guys doing?_ ” Bill was munching on something, the crunch on his end making Mike think maybe pretzels or chips. 

“We’re going to my parents’ house for an impromptu party, think you’ll be home soon?”

There was more crunching. “ _In the next hour or so. I’m down for an impromptu party. What’s the occasion?_ ” 

Mike nodded at Stan who held a fingernail in between is teeth but didn’t bite down. “Well, um, you see, it’s actually kind of an engagement party.”

More crunching and then a slight pause. “ _Um, okay, for who? Richie already propose?_ ”

They all laughed at this and Mike shrugged. It wasn’t completely implausible, just based on how they had been acting lately.

“No,” Stan said through his laughter. “It’s um, it’s for us.”

There was the distinct sound of choking and the two of them remained silent for a second as Bill caught his breath. They could hear Audra in the back asking something, maybe if he was alright, and then Bill cleared his throat and came back on the line. “I’m sorry, you, uh –” another coughing fit. “ _You, you guys are engaged? You guys were_ dating _?_ ” 

Mike nodded as if Bill could see him. “Um, yea, we’ve actually been dating since my 16th.”

“ _Birthday?!_ ” Bill was coughing, but the sound was mingled with laughter. “ _Holy shit, I – there’s no way, are you serious?_ ”

“Yeah, we um…” Stan paused. “We didn’t know how to tell you guys. I was being a coward.”

“You weren’t, at all.” Mike furrowed his brow at Stan. His face fell, and he shook his head.

“I was. But I’m not anymore.”

There was a bit of unadulterated screaming and for a moment Mike thought he was back on the phone with his mom. “ _Holy shit oh my god congratulations, I am so sorry that I didn’t notice I am so happy for you guys holy shit, Audra, Audra! Did you hear this? Stan and Mike are getting married! What the fuck! I’m, I just can’t even believe it, you guys…I don’t even know what to say, my god, I am so happy for you –_ ” There was a few more moments of absolute joy and Mike couldn’t contain his giggling. He hoped this is what every new adventure felt like.

“ _Where, where are you guys? I want to come see you, we want to come by._ ” 

“We’re going to my parents’ man please come but drive careful the weather up here is going to hell.” Mike said. “We’ll be there in about twenty minutes at this rate.”

“He’s driving like a grandpa,” Stan said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Mike’s shoulder. 

“ _I’m just, like wow you guys, I don’t even know how to put words into sentences right now, so I’m going to go, and we’ll see you soon. I love you guys._ ”

“We love you too,” Mike said. Audra was making a high squeaky sound like seemed like excitement or maybe crying, he couldn’t tell and there were a few goodbyes and the call disconnected. 

Up ahead on the left side was a sign which read, _Derry 10 miles_. “Almost there, baby.” Mike said.

“Say it again.” Stan whispered, his voice triggering a warmth in Mike’s chest that bloomed and filled him all the way to his fingertips.

“ _Baby,_ ” he whispered and brought the ringed hand up to kiss. Stan shivered and cleared his throat. 

“Okay, okay, almost there, let’s call Ben and Bev,” He replied, and scrolled through his phone some more.

There were only two rings this time and Bev’s voice came up groggily on the other end. “ _Stan, you okay? What’s going on? What happened?_ ” She must have just woken up from a nap, she only got truly motherly when she was awoken from a perfect nap. They must have been at Ben’s mom’s house, because they weren’t home.

“I’m fine, I’m with Mike,” Stan said. Mike chuckled.

“ _Mike, what’s wrong,_ ” Beverly yawned loudly, and groaned. “ _I was napping. _”__

____

____

“We figured,” Mike said. “You should get up.”

“ _Oh yeah?_ ” She laughed, but it was an annoyed sound. “ _And why is that?_ ”

“Because I just asked Stan to marry me and he said yes.” Mike replied, making a left-hand turn. 

There was a loud sniffling sound and Mike could picture her sitting up stock-still in bed. “ _What the fuck?_ ”

“Yeah and sister I need you to go to my house and have drinks with us. It’s not really negotiable.” 

“ _Holy fuck, you did it? Oh my god, I_ knew _it! I knew there was something going on I just didn’t want to assume I – oh my god I have to find Ben hold on._ ” There was some scuffling and the sound of pounding footsteps and then the door to whatever room she was in swinging open and then her screaming, “ _BEN! BENJAMIN WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU! BEN! IT’S STAN AND MIKE, hold on,_ ” and then she was going down stairs and it honestly sounded like she was maybe just jumping down them and then in the background he heard Ben’s voice. 

“ _Are they okay?_ ”

“ _Yes, they’re okay they’re getting_ married!” Beverly was laughing her voice high and glittering and Stan was smiling so hugely his face looked close to tearing.

“ _What, are you serious?_ ” Ben asked.

“ _Yes! Oh my god!_ ” Beverly was laughing and then making a crying sound and maybe she handed Ben the phone because then he was on the other end.

“ _You guys have been dating? For how long?_ ”

“Almost eight years, actually,” Stan said, and Ben scoffed – actually made a scoffing sound. 

“ _That is insane, if this is a joke –_ ”

“I promise it’s not a joke,” Mike replied, and he was laughing.

“ _Wow okay yes I am here for this when do we celebrate?_ ” Ben replied. Mike was impressed. There was no hesitation in his voice. 

“Tonight, we’re heading to my house now,” He replied. 

“ _Okay, yes we’ll be there in a little bit, see you soon,_ ” Ben said, and behind that was Beverly screaming, “ _A WEDDING!_ ” 

Then Ben again. “ _Congratulations you guys, really, we’ll see you in a bit._ ” And then he hung up. Stan sighed and clapped his hands together.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he said. 

“It is,” Mike said, his voice quiet. “I will try to make you sure of that for rest of our lives.” 

“I know you will.” 

“Good,” Mike said. They were starting to come out of the woods, the forest is still thick on either side of the snow-slick road, but they could see the grey sky again, flurries whipping on a bone-chilling wind. “I think you should call him now. You know he’ll be with Eddie.”

Stan sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I can’t believe they weren’t at the house. Seems to be too cold to be outside to be fucking around out there.”

“You know, at this point, I wouldn’t put it past them,” Mike said. But he was smiling softly.

His fiancé was shaking his head, then he took a deep breath. “Okay.” 

Then the phone was ringing, and it filled the warm car with its sound. It was barely a moment when Richie picked up.

“ _Huwwo?_ ” 

Stan cringed, made a face. “Jesus Christ Richie are you seriously doing what I think you’re doing? Why would you answer the phone?” He went to hang up but not before there was the sound of running water on the other end. Richie spit something and sniffled.

“ _Don’t be so slutty, Staniel, I was just brushing my teeth. I had to after all the d—_ ”

“Beep beep, Richie, please!” Mike said. How was it that no matter what, they could just _tell_ what he was going to say at this point.

“ _Mike? Is that you?_ ” His voice was soft suddenly and it threw Mike off a little bit. 

“Yeah, it’s me, I’m driving. You’re on speaker.”

“ _Well Mikey and Stanny oot and aboot, whatcha doing?_ ” 

There was a moment of quiet and Stan and Mike looked at one another. Stan and Richie had been best friends before any of the others came along. It had always been them. Since kindergarten on they had seen each other through the best and the worst of times, even with Beverly in the picture the two of them were closer than brothers. If Mike wasn’t his soulmate, Richie was in the running, even with how distant they had been lately.

“Well, um, Rich, we were wondering if you’re busy? If maybe you and Eddie want to meet us at the Hanlon’s? We want to tell you something.” 

“ _Mr. Spaghetts is out cold I wore him out today –_ ”

“Okay Rich ya’ nasty, should we call you back later?” Mike said, shifting in his seat.

“ _Oh, come on, guys, you can’t leave me hanging like this. I hate secrets especially ones that I have to put on pants to come learn._ ” 

“No, I’m not, we’re not going to…I um,” Stan swallowed. “Just don’t be gross.”

“ _Yike man what’s going on, you sound like you’re about to attend a funeral or something._ ”

“Richie, um, Mike just asked me to…well…he just asked me to marry him. And I said yes. And so, we’re…” He looked at Mike, shrugging. “So, we’re going to get married.”

The pause that followed was longer than any of the others from the last thirty minutes. For a moment Mike wondered if the call had been dropped. But then Richie sniffed on the other end.

“ _What right now?_ ” 

It was like a balloon burst, the tension that had built in that silence dissipated and Stan was laughing again. Mike shook his head. Fucking Trashmouth.

“No, not right now, we’re just going to have some drinks and celebrate. We want you to come. Please, we want you there.”

“ _Wait, this is serious? You aren’t fucking with me?_ ”

“No, I gave him a ring and everything, you can come see it if you come over.” 

Another pause.

“Richie?” Stan said.

No reply. They looked at each other, their faces mirroring the other – disappointment and worry.

Another minute passed. “Rich…I’m…please don’t be mad…we, we wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t…” Stan’s eyes were starting to fill with tears. Goddammit Richie just say something. “I wasn’t ready and now I am, and I want you to come celebrate with us please.”

More nothing. Static was starting to fill in the space where Richie’s voice should be, and Mike was beginning to worry something terrible was going to hap—

The sound was slight at first, unrecognizable. Mike felt himself lean in a little to see if he was missing something, maybe hearing things. But then it came in much clearer. Richie was…crying.

He was actually crying, and Stan covered his mouth, stifling back his own tears. Mike watched him, held onto his hand a little tighter.

“ _I can’t believe it,_ ” Richie said in between his wracking sobs. It seemed real, and he had only seen him cry maybe a handful of times in his life. He was really crying. “ _This is fucking fantastic and I –_ ” 

He coughed and wailed a little, and then Stan was fully crying as well, and Mike was following suit. They were all sobbing in the dead November cold and they couldn’t stop.

“ _Why didn’t you tell me? God I just w-want you to be h-happy—_ ”

“I was _afraid_ , Richie, I was afraid to say anything to anyone just in case I ruined it –”

“You could never ruin it, ever –”

“ _Mike is right, you deserve to be goddamn happy and I love you, we all love you, we would h-have done anything to support you –_ ”

“I know but I was so afraid of it and it was just easier not to say anything –”

“ _Where are you guys? I want to come see you. I’ll get ordained I swear to god, I am just so happy, and I want you to be happy, are you h-happy?_ ”

“Yes, we’re so happy, he’s so good to me,”

“And you’re good to me too,” Mike said through his own tears. Stan looked at him, his face blotchy and red, like it had been in the snow.

“ _Mike, you better treat him like the twink god he is I swear to fuck –_ ”

“Jesus Christ Richie,” Stan laughed, his nose stuffed.

“ _And Staniel if you don’t make him believe that he’s a chocolate thundercat every day I’ll kick your ass,_ ” Richie was trying to laugh, throat thick with tears.

“I promise, I promise I will,” Stan wiped his face and Mike was laughing through the crying with them both.

“ _Please let me be the preacher, I’ll do the broom thing and I’ll wear a little yarmulke and everything –_ ”

“You don’t want to be a best man?” Mike asked, wiping his eyes. His nose was starting to run a little.

“ _Beverly can be the best man, I have a fancy tuxedo shirt I’ve been saving for just such an occasion._ ” He chuckled, and Mike rolled his eyes.

“Will you wake up Eddie and tell him? We would love to see you guys there.” Mike said.

“ _Yeah, of course, anything, fuck,_ ” Richie laughed again. “ _He’s going to be so pissed he was asleep._ ”

“I think he’ll forgive us,” Stan said, and he leaned over to press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek, on the corner of his mouth. Mike turned to grin at him.

“ _Yeah, he will, so what are you guys thinking, do I need to bring any—_ ”

The words were gone. 

As soon as Stan sat back, faced the front, his eyes grew wide with terror and Mike turned as well, and there was a deer in the road and Stan was crying out, “ _BABY LOOK OUT!_ ” but Mike was only going twenty it would be fine, it was going to be easy to stop so he touched the brakes carefully, and then the car was turning sideways, black ice, black _fucking_ ice, and the car clipped the deer and they hit the ditch and –

They were airborne, Mike knew, he reached out and tried to grab Stan’s hand but he couldn’t reach him he wasn’t there and then he was upside down and the car was hitting the ground with a sickening crunch that reverberated in his chest and his bones and something snapped inside of him he had no idea where but he was screaming out in pain, trying to hold his breath, he had no idea why, his chest was so tight he could barely breathe but then they were up again, flipping a second time and he pushed his head back into the headrest and squinted his eyes shut and he prayed, god did pray, he hadn’t believed in a god since the seventh grade and here he was praying to god, keep us safe, _keep us safe, I want to be okay when this is over please GOD_ , and the car was rolling back over again and his head slammed into the driver’s side window and the action rocketed lights and searing burning pain through his whole head and everything went dark for a moment.

 

Maybe it was ten seconds or ten hours, he did not know. Mike blinked a few times, his eyelids heavy. He was first acutely aware that there was a dinging noise, and a turn signal was going. He groaned, tried to move, but his head felt so heavy. He was having trouble breathing too, like his nose was stuffed from the worst cold in his life. He couldn’t seem to open his eyes enough to see what had happened. The vision in his right eye seemed all…red… Then he realized, he was upside down. Blood was rushing to his head, his seatbelt holding him tightly in place. 

Where was Stan? He couldn’t see him. Along the floor – well, the ceiling – glass glittered and swirled, mixed with snow which was sifting in through the windshield. Mike let his arms stretch out, the motion causing a radiating pain and he winced, loudly, and he was shaking. He could finally place the copper taste in his mouth and his tongue felt so huge in between his teeth and Mike cried out, trying his best to look at where the pain was coming from. He could see white shard of something sticking out of his pant leg and what the hell was that. He couldn’t seem to focus on it long enough to understand exactly what the hell it was. He had to find Stanley. He wasn’t in his place in the passenger seat nor was he here on top of him or in the backseat. Where was he?

Mike reached up with trembling fingers to where his seatbelt was holding him in place and clicked the release. In one swift motion he hit the now – floor of the car and screamed! – his whole body filling with white hot adrenaline pain and he threw up, from the motion the car had just taken or the bone jutting out of his leg hitting the glass he did not know. He looked around, but everything was blurry. There was snow starting to fill the interior of the car and, wait, yes, his eye was swelling shut. God, where was Stanley? He made a pulling motion with the arm not pinned underneath him, his good leg – could either of them really be called that _right now?_ – still tangled up in the seatbelt. His throat felt like it was filled with burning gravel. He tried to call out anyway.

“ _stan?_ ” The sound was barely a whisper and he had to spit out red sticky blood to keep from choking. Blood was running down into his ear from where his skull hit the window and he could see ahead of him out of his open eye a huge…hole.

There was a place where windshield had been before and was not anymore, and out in the distance, maybe ten feet from where he lay now, was something.

He could see the blue line of coat, but it was barely anything. Maybe it wasn’t him. _Please god, don’t let it be him, please god, please god, please god –_

He pulled himself up another few inches, screaming as his shattered leg dragged along the ground. The sound barely echoed around him, the snow soaking it in and keeping it a secret. He peered – strained – to see over the blasted-out glass, see if that was what he thought it was, who he thought it was, see if it was his Stanley. His leg was beginning to get cold and he felt like maybe he had spilled a two liter of pop on his pants because they were so sticky and cold and wet, and he was starting to feel tired. If he could just confirm that it wasn’t him, it _wasn’t his Stanley_ , he would rest, he would wait here for someone to come get him because of course someone was coming why wouldn’t they be? He tried to pull the collar of his coat up with his free hand, press it between his teeth. He couldn’t feel his face now and his toes were starting to feel much farther away than they should be. After he figured the coat was in place enough, he caught his breath, as much as he could, planted his arm fully to the floor, and pulled himself forward. The sound that escaped him seemed inhuman, like a coyote separated from its family, that high wailing pitch that signifies lost, I’m _lost_ , come find me, I’m lost, and he spit the collar out, along with it blood that kept strung to his lips. He began to shiver. Just see if it’s him, that’s all you have to do.

He looked over the best he could, one leg twisted up in the seatbelt, the other pumping blood out at an alarming rate, his body twisted up on the floor. He was taking short, choking breaths, his left eye finally coming to a full and complete close.

There, lying in the snow, he could see the blue coat, a familiar mop of curls, matted with red. It did not move. It did not make any noise. It just lay there, in that all too familiar shape of the curve of Stanley’s spine and Mike threw up again.

He couldn’t scream. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. Nothing would come out. He tried to curl in on himself, but he suddenly couldn’t move. It couldn’t be him, it couldn’t. He gasped for a breath, struggled to find it.

Something was dangling in his face, upside down so he couldn’t see it clearly at first. He was getting so tired and cold and he just wanted to stay here. If that _was_ Stanley out in the snow, lying there unmoving…he didn’t want to continue to be here.

He thought maybe if he could just rest his eyes he could maybe be okay, but in the pit of his chest, and the place where his heart lay out in the snow, he knew that would not be the case.

He tried to focus on something, anything, blinking his one eye rapidly to clear it. There was nothing in the immediate space that would be useful. Except that dangling thing.

His phone held tightly by the aux cord, the screen now cracked in a massive spiderweb look. He tried to reach out but leaning over himself proved too painful. Slowly, like he was trying to move undetected, he rolled over, but the motion made him dizzy and he had the overwhelming urge to vomit again. But his phone was _right there._

He sucked in shallow breaths, reached out with his good hand, pulled the phone into his hand, tearing the aux cord out of the radio in the process. The screen lit up, asked for his fingerprint. He had saved his thumb and Stan’s index finger in its settings when he first got the thing, had been convinced weeks later to let the other Losers add one of theirs as well. He pressed one bloody thumbpad to the home button once, twice, three times. Nothing. 

The password screen came up, he was trying to catch his breath again. In the bottom left corner, Emergency stared at him like the beacon of a lighthouse and he clicked it, bringing up the number pad. God could it not just do it itself, he wanted to rest, go lay out under the lights, find Stan, just lay in the snow, they were going to get married you know, maybe an early fall wedding, out in Colorado, they’d always…wanted…to go there…

_9-1-1._

He pressed call, or, he thought he did because there was a far away ringing sound but maybe it was something else, because now all there was was a low melody, what was that? The notes sounded like drums, a thumping on a door or maybe glass, or against his ribs, and maybe it was Stan humming along to it there next to him, and he followed the lights and maybe they were the lights of the dancefloor of their wedding, under twinkle lights and everyone was there, and he smiled and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that about 'kill your darlings?'


	8. Mike Hanlon Beats the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought it was over...ha! (Like that vine?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on writing this all along, so here she is.

_It was dark, a deep aching endlessness, like the bottom of the deepest ocean._

_Where was this place?_ What _was this place? He didn’t know._

_There, behind the dark, a memory began to push forward. Green, the air like the fresh blues and violets of sunrise, curling at the edges with pinks and oranges. It was sunrise, the morning after an event. What event…? Caps, gowns…graduation? Yes, it had to be. Black for the boys, a hideous holiday orange for the girls. He had been separated from most of the others, but…Ben had been next to him. Yes, it was Ben. Knees crashing together. Nerves. The whole future sprawling out before them. The future…_ his _future, his future, yes. Caps in the air, rain that night, cleared out early._

_“The sun is coming up, let’s go watch!” Fingertips on his window at five thirty, Richie, Eddie and Bill behind him, wrapped up. Out the window, to Stan’s, out the front door, to Ben’s, Bev is there, out the window, down to the Barrens, clean, green and blue sunrise air._

_The memory thick like bonfire smoke, clouded by something else. White, cold, but an underlying warmth, and then…filling with a rose and gold blood, elation, coursing through veins. “Yes, a thousand times, yes!” A gold shine._

_Then more, this memory coming up so quickly it was blinding, cold, a ricocheting pain and fear…unadulterated fear. The curve of a spine, the far-away scream of the wind, the jagged point of bone. Then nothing. Then here. This dark something._

_“Mike…” Was that for him?”_

_“Hey, he’s moving, he’s waking up! Get Bill!”_

_“You can’t be in here right now –”_

_“You can fucking try and make us leave!”_

_Waking up…waking up…out of the black…into the blue…waking up…wake up…_ wake up!

_“Mikey, we’re here, you’ve got this.” Bill? No, Ben._

_“Hey Mike, come on.” Richie. Yes, Richie._

_Out of the black, out of the black. A pinhole opened in front of him, that blinding white again, another memory? No, not this one._

_Out of the black, into the sweet, sunrise blue._

 

Cold. That’s what he noticed first. Cold and bright, even behind his eyelids. There was a dull beeping noise that rattled around in his ears and he opened his eyes, well, eye, his left was shut tight, tentatively, focusing on his surroundings. They were all there and they let out a collective sigh as he looked around at them. 

At his left, Bev was holding onto the tips of his fingers. Not really holding as much as letting hers rest on his. She was crying. Don’t cry, Bev, he tried to say, but nothing came out. Behind her was Ben, then Bill, equal tears rolling down their faces. Richie was perched at the end of the bed, and that’s when he noticed his leg was wrapped up, propped up in some sort of pulley contraption, the white plaster glistening and new. He started at it wide-eyed, blinked for a moment, then moved on. He’d come back to that later. 

Richie was comforting Eddie, who was crying into his hands. And then on his right were his parents, their faces wet, but they were smiling. Painfully, but there were the brief lines of relief there. 

“Christ, Mikey,” Richie said, and he wiped away tears from under his glasses. He leaned down and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed, covering his mouth with curled fists. Mike tried to smile at them, but his mouth was stiff and sore. 

He took a minute to assess himself: he had a headache, a light one, more like the way a bruise feels as it starts to heal on the surface of the skin. His face was sore. Something was in his nose, but it was helping him breathe, he thought. Okay... There was the leg. That was interesting. And his eye was closed. He looked around at them, slow, because his neck was a bit stiff. Things were beginning to piece themselves back together in his mind. 

The car was smashing down into the ground, black and white and red, his head slamming into glass, a voice, his voice, echoing around his head, “ _BABY WATCH OUT!_ ”, a bloody thumbprint, the limp body of a coat, held up by the shoulders that held a million freckles, marred by the many years’ sunlight.

He blinked back the memory, choked away a sob. _No, no, no, no, no, no no nononononono._ Please god. 

“Where is he?” His voice came out raspy and he swallowed the thick copper taste that had taken up residence in his mouth. He couldn’t say his name, he wouldn’t do it, if he said his name out loud, it might finalize whatever terrible news they were about to impart him. He couldn’t hear it, he didn’t dare. _Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t._

They didn’t speak, just looked forlornly at one another, then away, sniffling. He looked at his hands, now noticing they were torn to shreds. Stitches in three places on the left, one on the right, purplish red blood blisters had burst under his thumbnail and middle finger. His eye was burning, but he could feel tears spilling out on the left side. 

“Please,” he tried, his voice cracking. 

Of course. They were _here_. They weren’t split between him and Stan. Stan was dead. _Oh god Stan was dead_. His heart had fallen into the pit of his stomach and his throat seized, unable to take breath and tasting only of bile. _They had been on their way to celebrate their engagement. And now Stan was dead._ If it were true, he wanted nothing more than to follow him into the grave.

His mother stood, rested her forehead against the side of his, held his face gently with her hand. He cried into it. 

He couldn’t be gone, he couldn’t be gone, he _couldn’t be dead._

“Mama, _please_ ,” He cried, his face burning, head beginning to pound.

“Mikey,” Bev said, her voice was small. He didn’t look at her. He was afraid of what she would say. 

“No,” was all he could say, but it was so quiet he was sure she didn’t hear it.

“He…” It was his dad who spoke up. He looked at him over his mother’s shoulder. 

He had seen his father grave like this before, when his grandparents had died. His face was pale, almost ashen, eyes watery and distant. Will Hanlon swallowed hard, looked at the others and then back at him. 

“When, well, when Richie called us, saying he…” He paused. “Was on the phone with you guys, and that he couldn’t get you back, we called the police and they said they were…” He cleared his throat, wiped away tears in a pinching motion. Then he was shaking his head, unable to go on.

It was Bill who spoke next. “When the car flipped, Stan was thrown from it.” He looked uncomfortably at the foot of the bed, studying the stitching of the thin knit blanket covering him.

_Christ Bill,_ Mike thought. _You shouldn’t be the one doing this._

The memory of Georgie’s death was passing like a shadow over Big Bill’s face, he could see.

“Bill,” he tried, tried to stop him from going on. He could see the words ripping into him, see the scars resurfacing on the tip of Bill’s tongue, he died, Mikey, Georgie is _dead, and Stan isn’t coming back._

Ben put an arm around Bill’s shoulder, let him lean into the touch. Mike took a shaky breath. There was a hiccupping sob at the end of the bed. It was Eddie. He was tucked up under Richie’s arm, sniffling. His eyes, red and swollen, were pleading. He didn’t want to say it either.

“Eddie…” His voice caught again, and he forced himself to swallow. It was like swallowing glass.

“Mike,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please, Eddie, tell me.” The words were a lie. He didn’t actually care to hear. If Eddie decided to give him the important information, he might throw up, or lose his mind. At this point he just needed _someone_ to say _something. Anything_ so that he might…he didn’t know.

“I’m just…I’m just so sorry.”

Beverly reached out and took his hand and his head snapped in her direction, painfully, like he was experiencing whiplash for the second time today. Was it even today still? Or had they moved on into a new daylight? Had whole days passed and they had already buried Stan and he hadn’t been there to say goodbye? Would he continue to sit here in his harried guesses, unsure of the actual truths?

She opened her mouth, stroked the unharmed skin on the back of his hand. “When you got here, you both had to go into surgery immediately…Stan hasn’t come out yet.”   
Stan hasn’t come out yet. Out of surgery. He survived the wreck. _Holy shit he survived the wreck thank you GOD ALMIGHTY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS ALIVE!_

“I need to see him.” The words came tumbling out and before his mind had even processed he had spoken or what he was doing, he was attempting to push away the blanket, wriggle out from the contraption that had him strapped to the ceiling, white hot, dripping pain roiling through his body, and bile rose in the back of his throat. The tubes that ended in his nose, he thought the word was cannula now, caught tight to his neck, and in the swimming lake that was his right eye’s vision, he could see them all standing, various stages of shouting, arms outstretched. 

Beverly and his mother at the same time said, “Mikey, no!” 

Bill and Ben pressed their palms to the bed, “Hey, no, wait!” and “Mike you can’t!” 

Richie, bless him, was the only one being sensible. “I’ll get a wheelchair,” to which Eddie shot him a look and said, “He can’t get out of bed Richie, Jesus Christ, he’s in a cast for a reason.” But his eyes were soft, apologetic. Richie gave him a sorry look in return. Eddie put a hand on his cheek, “I’m sorry, I’m not in a good place,” it said. 

Richie looked back at Mike. Could he not see the look in his eyes? Please Rich, it said. I need to see him and you know it. 

A man in a white coat came in and everyone stood at attention, wiping their eyes and noses and looking as if they had been standing there in silent contemplation for the last twenty minutes. Mike watched the doctor’s progress over to where Richie had just been and pulled a clipboard off the hanging basket that was bolted to the end of the bed.

“Mr. Hanlon, you’re awake,” he said, smiling amiably enough. “I’m Dr. Gray. I see your…” he paused and looked around at the Losers. “…friends here didn’t get the memo that visiting hours are over.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Mike said, trying to clear his throat. “But I’m not going to kick out my family.”

Dr. Gray grinned sympathetically. He probably thought it was just a term of endearment. It wasn’t. The Losers stood glancing between Mike and the doctor, pleased smirks rested on their faces. Will Hanlon shook his head.

“Bob,” Gray looked at him. Mike turned to his father. They knew each other? “Any word?”

Dr. Gray caught his father’s eyes, sighed. He looked sideways at Mike, then back to his dad. “The Urises are outside. Care to join me?” He gestured towards the door. _Wait_ , Mike wanted to say. _Why can’t you finish it here? I need to know how he is!_

His parents nodded. Jessica gave Mike a small kiss on the forehead, placed her hand on his cheek. Her hand pulled away and Mike could see streaks of tears and rust on them as she and his father left his bedside. 

Not rust. Blood.

They left the room, turned the corner. Mike felt himself leaning forward, struggling to hear what they were going to say, but they went out of earshot. He fell back into his pillow, suddenly exhausted. Beverly settled back in next to him, gingerly took his hand.

“Mikey,” she said. “You should rest.”

“Yeah man, you look…” Richie paused, seemed to choke on his words. Mike looked at him, let it settle. He was going to say ‘dead’. You look dead, Mikey. But he didn’t. Because maybe Stan was.

They all looked at the floor again, the idea that maybe their seven might have become six in just the course of half a day suddenly too much. 

Fatigue was setting in, and Mike wondered if he’d wake up from this sleep. He could feel his eyelid beginning to droop and he rolled his head slowly to face Beverly.

“Will you guys stay?” His voice came out like a whisper, the beginnings of sleep. He was slipping back into the black, out of the blue, into the black, and he was worried that black would swallow him whole, wrap him up in swift, unending loneliness, a loneliness he would never awake from. Perhaps in this new sleeping loneliness, Stan would be there, waiting, hands outstretched, and they would wait here together in this new place, wait for the next chapter.

“Of course,” he thought he heard her say, but the words were like the wind, lost in the breathing creature that was his sleep, and once again, he slipped away, unsure of what awaited him on the other side.

 

Three days passed. More sleeping, more unending blackness, more waiting. Mike would wake, groggy, moving more and more every day, eager to get out of bed, to go to the room where Stanley lay recovering, see if he had awakened. 

The Losers came in every day, reading to him, bringing him gifts from around town, things people had brought his parents as condolences, as if Mike had already died or been buried. No, he would think to himself, not dead until I find out if Stan is.

He could move more freely now, leaning over to the bedside table to get himself a drink of water. His breathing tube had been taken out and he could talk fully. His eye had opened back up completely, but by god if the fluorescent lights weren’t occasionally too bright for that newly opened eye. One day before the rest of the Losers showed up, Richie started undoing the straps that held his leg up and brought in a wheelchair. 

“We’re gonna go see Staniel if I get kicked out of this godforsaken hospital.” Rich said as he carefully set Mike’s leg onto the bed. Mike, who by then had free range of his arms as well, had started lowering himself into the blue and steel plastic wheelchair when Eddie walked in and upon seeing Mike and Richie tangled up in one another, Mike’s legs resting on Richie’s shoulders in a backwards shoulder ride, dropped the trays of coffee he had brought in for the lot of them, let out a little squeal of horror, coffee in several different colors spreading out like a wading pool on the floor. He had been confined to the bed for another day and a half because of that stunt. 

On the third day, around three o’clock – he’d been resigned to loneliness at the doctor’s bequest, being subjected to tests and meeting with a physical therapist – that there was a knock at the door. He sat up slightly. 

“Come in.”

The door swung on its hinges, in towards the room, and there stood a nurse, Mike had seen her around town, her name was Leah, he thought. She pushed a wheelchair in before her, flanked by the Losers. They were all grinning. 

Mike let the smile take over his face. He was going to actually get to leave this room.

Bill leaned against the doorway, arms crossed in front of him. 

“You want to go on an adventure?”

The adventure was mostly in them all trying to help the trained professional that was Leah – yes, I remember now she graduated when I was in seventh grade, back when mom subbed at the school – get him into the wheelchair. This included a lot of yelling, swearing and a more than decent attempt at Doogie Howser’s voice on Richie’s part, Eddie trying to explain to Leah how to do her job, dirty looks in response to that, and nine minutes later, they were pushing him down the hall. 

Richie volunteered to push Mike so Leah could, in his words, “Direct us like one of those Hollywood Studios backstage ladies, get us all wet,” to which she politely declined, confused. The others were traipsing behind them, probably too slow for their comfort, but they didn’t complain out loud. Mike couldn’t stop looking around, looking for Stan’s parents. They weren’t in the waiting room. It was doubtful that they would have gone home, why would they go home? Their only son was laying in bed down one of these hallways. 

They turned down another hallway, Mike starting to get discouraged. How many goddamn hallways were there in this hospital anyway? Were they not actually taking him to Stan’s room? He fidgeted as much as his cast would allow and cleared his throat. 

“Not much further,” Leah said, as if reading his mind. He couldn’t stop a smile forming on his face. It was one of the few times since…everything…that had given him a genuine grin.

There was a door swung wide open on the left, two rooms from the mouth of the hall. Inside stood Donald and Andrea Uris, starting solemnly down at their son. 

_Stan!_

Mike sat up, suddenly covered in a quick sweat and heart racing. Leah pushed him up to the doorway, leaned over Mike’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. 

“I’ll give you all fifteen minutes. Please be careful.” He could barely hear her, and then she had disappeared, leaving the six of them standing in the doorway to Stan’s recovery room. Bill took up post behind him.

“Let’s do this.”

The room was dead silent, and he scolded himself for using that word to describe it. How long would they all shy away from it? From the ever-looming threat of death? All because of a thin sheet of black ice and an ill-placed early winter doe. 

Stan’s parents watched as Mike was wheeled in. They were wearing matching faces of anger, disgust, sadness – for some reason, he couldn’t be surprised. Bill’s hands were squeezing and loosening on the cracking leather handgrips. Mike felt it too. They were unwanted here.

As he pulled up to the bed, Donald came around the corner, put his hand up. Mike blinked at him. Would he really deny him sitting next to his fiancé, holding his hand? Then it clicked. Of course, he didn’t know, and if he did…

“You shouldn’t have come,” Stan’s father said. His voice caught a little as he spoke, and he huffed, looking at his wife. 

“Mike deserves to be here.” Bill said, bringing himself to his full height. Mike didn’t turn, he just watched Stan’s chest rising and falling with his breathing. He was breathing. He was alive. Slowly, with painstaking care, he look up at his face.

It was not good, at all, but it could have been much, much worse. He silently thanked god or whatever had cradled his love less than safely from the car, because Stan was alive, and he was _here_. 

His face was a watercolor painting of bruises, purple and red and green. His eyes looked a little swollen, but perhaps they were only closed from sleep. He was also wearing a cannula to help him breathe. Mike wondered if he had actually woken up yet. Or if he was stuck here…stuck in a coma or something.

He had a small healing cut that ran across his lips like a stitch keeping him from speaking untruths. He did have actual stitches running across his left temple like a rolling bead of sweat. Mike tried to count them. Fifteen. Fifteen stitches that came to existence just under the corner of his eyebrow, down to the ridge of his cheekbone.

Tears began to prickle at the front of his eyes and he sniffed. Stanley stirred and Mike perked up, but he stayed fast asleep. Disappointing.

He let his eyes wander more, fell on the wrappings that covered his head tightly. They had shaved half his head. The other half was still curly and wild, but suppressed by those eerie, foreign bandages. Mike swallowed hard. Christ. Underneath those bandages, a chunk of Stan’s skull was missing. His brain had tried to kill him. Was it Mike’s fault his brain had swelled until it couldn’t fit inside his perfect skull and they had kept him in surgery nearly nine hours? Had Mike nearly killed Stan?

“You did this to him.” Mike turned and looked up into Stan’s father’s face. It was hard and rugged, heavy bags under each of his eyes. Was everyone reading his mind today?

“If he hadn’t been in that car with you, he’d be awake right now. He’d be alive. And we’d be spending Thanksgiving at home.” Donald was shaking. There were teeth marks in his bottom lip, he noticed, from biting down. Was it really Thanksgiving already? He looked at Richie who stood behind Bill, and Rich shook his head. Another mind reader. He turned back to Stan’s dad, opened his mouth to speak. Bev filled in the empty space.

“You know Mike would never do anything to hurt Stan,” She spat.

“And yet here he is! Unconscious in a hospital bed!” Don responded. 

Mike shook his head, tried to block it out. Maybe if he just looked at Stan, he could block it all out. They were screaming at one another, Beverly and Stan’s father, Ben and Richie jumping in too, Bill coming in from behind to give his two cents again and Mike was counting the stitches over and over again. He reached out, wanted to take Stan’s hand in his own, couldn’t. 

“Is that your ring?” 

A voice came out of the yelling and Mike turned to it. It had come from Andrea, who looked to him. She was crying, her soft brown eyes so like Stan’s. She swallowed. “You gave it to him?”

Everyone had become quiet, now sneaking glances between Mike and Stan’s mother. The two of them stared in silent reverie at one another, breathing heavily and waiting for the other to speak. 

He went first. If he could have, he would have stood as well. She deserved that much. He was sorry he couldn’t give it to her. “I did.” 

The words stretched out across the room. She nodded and took a hitching breath. No one spoke. It was as if they all had to figure the words out. ‘I’, as a pronoun, used by a speaker to refer to himself or herself, Oxford example, “Accept me for what I am.” ‘Did’, past tense of ‘do’, definition: perform an action, the precise nature of which is often unspecified, though in his personal example, “Your son did say yes to my proposal.” The monitor keeping track of Stan’s heartrate beeped. In the hallway the shoes of the nurses and doctors squeaked. 

“ _Mike?_ ” His head snapped to the noise, giving himself a peaking migraine in the process, his heart pounding away again like the summer drums of rolling thunder. 

Stan’s lips, chapped and ripped open, were parted slightly, and his eyes were stuttering as they tried to open. 

The Losers crowded in, Stan’s father was shouting something from his place by the bed out toward the hallway – “My son is waking up, find the doctor!” – and Mike took up his hand, carefully, but he wrapped it in his own, nearly toppling out of the wheelchair in the process. Tears billowed down the sides of his cheeks and he took in a gasp of air. He was waking up, he was _waking up!_

“Stan, baby, I’m here, we’re here,” the room had melted away and Mike could not care any less that Stan’s parents were there, that the Losers were there, that the hospital was filled to the brim with people he did and did not know because here was Stanley waking up!

“Mikey, what…” His eyelids pulled up and for the first time since the car ride nearly a week ago, they locked eyes. Stan’s held love and confusion, Mike reflected love and love and love. 

He was moving slowly, blinking often, taking in his surroundings. He looked at each of the Losers, who were offering him smiles and tears, and then fell to his parents, then back to Mike. “What…what happened?” He tried to reach out to touch Mike’s face and winced, the beeping on the monitor going off a little more quickly for a moment, then settling back down into a normal rhythm. 

“Stan, just stay still it’s okay, we’re at Derry Home,” Mike couldn’t stop crying. Stan stared at him with sleep-filled eyes. 

“Mike, your head,” he was staring at the place where he too had a small shaved portion on his left temple, a little band-aid strip holding the now nearly healed cut together. The place where his head had slammed full force into the window, as if that was the worst of his problems.

“Yeah, it’s okay,”

“Stan we’re so glad you’re awake,” his parents had come around the other side of the bed, away from the Losers, drawing Stan’s attention toward them. He turned his head, slowly as if on a light swivel and squinted at them. 

He tried to sit up and failed at doing so, the heartrate monitor speeding up a little more, then back down again. “Awake?”

Donald and Andrea nodded at him. His mother was smoothing back his hair, letting her tears stream down her face. His father was remaining stoic, though he kept stealing angry, useless glances toward Mike. Mike took to staring at the edge of the blankets to avoid his eyes. He didn’t know what the meaning of that look was. It was making his heartbeat increase.

A nurse came in with Dr. Gray and all of the Losers except Mike backed away from the bedside. Stan blinked at the man with growing upheaval. Dr. Gray picked up the clipboard attached to the end of the bed and began scribbling on it.

“Hello Stanley,” Dr. Gray said, the nurse checking vitals, leaning over Mike as if he weren’t there to flash a light in Stan’s eyes. Mike watched his pupils grow and shrink, grow and shrink. If that was a normal reaction, maybe Stan would be alright. Completely fine. “You’re awake!”

“So I’ve been told,” Stan offered him a small smile.

Dr. Gray chuckled. “Did they tell you what happened?”

Stan shook his head, no.

“We were getting there, but,” His father said, and Mike took a moment to study the skin around his fingernails. He should really clip them soon, they were starting to look dangerous and ragged.

The doctor cleared his throat and set down the clipboard. “We can have this conversation privately or –”

“No!”

“Yes!” 

The room was torn in two but the nays had it. Stan and the rest of the Losers refusing, Stan’s parents insisting on the privacy. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, he was a grown man, a soon to be married man, and he could make his own decisions.

Dr. Gray nodded and cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Uris, almost five days ago, you were in an accident. According to these guys, you were on your way to the Hanlon’s to celebrate something.” Mike turned to look at Stan, see how he was taking all this. His forehead was wrinkled up and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He almost looked angry with the news. Without thinking, he reached out and took his hand carefully. Briefly there were eyes like daggers on him, but he didn’t care. Stan squeezed his hand.

“We took you into surgery and elevated the pressure on you brain. Then once the swelling went down, we went in again and put a plate in there, took a small skin graft and covered the spot up. It will take a while to heal and we’ll have to run some tests to make sure everything’s in order. And you might be in physical therapy for months but…” he paused, smiled at Stan. “You’re awake. And that’s more than we were hoping for.”

Mike swallowed, his throat dry. They really thought he’d lie braindead in this hospital for the rest of his life? What would he have done? He couldn’t even put words into sentences that might be able to properly describe where he’d be mentally…physically…emotionally… He’d probably be dead too. 

Stan blinked at the doctor, then looked from his parents to Mike, let his eyes drift over the other Losers. The nurse had moved on and was standing at the monitor that was keeping track of his heartrate and all the other numbers that come with being hooked up to tubes and wires. “We were in an accident?” He asked Mike, his voice low. Mike nodded. 

His eyes were wide, sad, glittering slightly. “On the way to your parents’…to celebrate…” He let his eyes fall to the ring on his finger and Mike nodded again. 

“Stanley,” Donald said, as if warning his son from going any further with his words, he didn’t want to hear it, but Stan held his hand up to silence him, let his words fall short. 

Mike watched him give his father a hard stare, then turn to Dr. Gray. “Sir, would you mind giving us a moment alone. Then we might discuss how to move forward.” He’d heard this voice before. During one of their first and only fights. It was the ‘I’m an adult and you will hear me today’ voice. 

Dr. Gray blinked at Stan and then sighed, letting his eyes move to his parents. He straightened up, fixed his coat and nodded at the lot of them, gestured to the nurse, and took his leave.

The tension in the room was nearly unbreathable, Stan’s parents staring hard at their son, waiting for him to speak, the Losers all standing in various stages of ‘oh shit, something is about to go down’, Mike was holding his breath, he finally noticed and took in a little gasp of air. His head swum. He tried to pull his hand away from Stan’s, but he refused to let go.  
“Stanley, please,” Andrea said, her voice soft and breaking. 

“Mother,” Stan started. She pressed her lips together tight. His father took a defensive step in front of his wife.

“We don’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say son, you need to rest, to fully recover and your friends –”

“My friends will not be leaving. Mike won’t be leaving. I would also prefer if you didn’t go, but I suppose depending on how you take this next piece of information, you might leave and we would never see each other again.” He swallowed and Mike watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down painfully. He gave his hand a little reassuring squeeze.

“Stanley, please, you should rest some,” Andrea, trying to diffuse the situation said.

It was as if he didn’t hear it. He pushed forward. “We were on our way to the Hanlon’s to celebrate. Mike has asked me to marry him. And I said yes.” He let the words hang between them like a banner, all huge glittering letters that read, _I’M GAY AND I’M GETTING MARRIED LOVE YOU MOM AND DAD_ and Mike put his hand to his lips, held his breath once more. 

Oh fuck, here we go.

Stan’s dad had pressed his hands together and was thinking it seemed, taking in slow calculated breaths. His mother had covered her eyes and Mike wondered if she was sobbing. He turned to the Losers. Beverly and Richie wore matching expressions of that ‘oh fuck’, their mouths open, eyebrows raised. Bill held his hand in a fist over his mouth and Ben and Eddie were looking anywhere but at the Urises. Eddie looked like he might want to dip out. 

“Stan.” His dad started, then closed his mouth up tight. That was all he said.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions about who I love for quite some time and I’m sorry if it hits too close to home, but this is who I am. I will no longer apologize for it. I will no longer hide it. Especially if what Dr. Gray says is true, and I will be in recovery for quite some time. Mike will be here to support me along the way. I would like if you were also.” 

There was another long moment of silence while Stan let them mull over what was said. Then, without warning, Stan’s father cleared his throat, turned on his heel, and left the room.   
Mike tried to stand, his leg caught underneath him, and he fell back into the wheelchair with a thump. He felt air on his tongue, realized his mouth had fallen open in shock. There was a gasping sob from his right and he looked, watching as Stan’s mother pulled her hands away from her face, which was now red and swollen, her eyes swimming pools of torment. 

He turned and looked at Stan, and his heart fell. Stan’s bruised and battered face was rib boned with tears, his bottom lip trembling. The others were crowding in around him, murmuring soft apologies and ‘I love you’s. Mike watched Stan’s mother for a moment, waiting to see how she would react.

She looked to the door, then back at Stan. “Stan, I’m –”

“Just go, mother.” He said, his voice clipped with pain. 

She shook her head, came in closer. She tried to reach out and touch his arm, then pulled her hand back, afraid. “No, he…he’s just in shock. We love you.” 

Stan was shaking his head now. “Just _go!_ ” 

After a moment of hesitation, she did, turning and ducking quickly into the hallway, where she disappeared from sight. 

As soon as she had turned the corner, the others swarmed the bed, Ben helping Mike stand enough that he could lean over the bedside and press his forehead against Stan’s, cup his face in his hand, let their tears churn together. Bill and Eddie were leaning over Stan as well in makeshift hugs, holding hands with one another and Eddie reached out, had Richie’s free hand as well. They lumped together, the seven of them, all words of affection and affirmation, we love you, we’re here for you, we won’t leave, we will get through this. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Mike said. He placed a gentle kiss on Stan’s cheek, careful to avoid his stitches. He didn’t know if they still hurt. 

Stan was shaking his head carefully, sniffling and heaving. “Don’t be. You’re okay, yeah? You’re okay?” He pushed a mirrored hand to Mike’s face, his heart rate monitor gaudy against his skin.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, you’re here, you’re here, I don’t care about the rest, you’re here, you’re awake.” They kissed again, like it had been a million years since they’d seen each other last. As if they had crossed battlefields and oceans and galaxies to get to this point here, pressed in together, the lot of them, one whole creature, breathing and crying and speaking their truths, because they had lived, they had _lived_ , and they were here together, _alive_.

 

His mother came around. Two weeks after Stan’s physical therapy started, two weeks before Mike’s cast was finally removed, the Losers came into Stan’s room to find Andrea Uris sitting at his bedside, talking to him. They were holding hands, heads in close, and they looked up when Eddie, Ben, and Mike entered the room. She stood, flattened her skirt and offered them a polite smile. Mike was on crutches now, but he was still stunted in terms of height. 

Andrea gave Stan a soft kiss on his forehead, his face now its normal color except for the dappling of black and green along his temple, and came to the three boys in the doorway. She paused in front of Mike, gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but he didn’t pull away from it. He just kept her brown eyes, which were present and clear.

“You’ve always been good to him, as a friend and…otherwise.” She said ‘otherwise’ like it was a foreign word to her. He gave her a grimace of appreciation, but didn’t speak. 

She swallowed. “We extend congratulations to you both.” She said quickly, then excused herself past the three of them.

The physical therapy was frustrating and extensive, and on more than one occasion, Mike found Stan so done with the work that he was verge of tears. He had to relearn to use his legs, Stan had to relearn writing his name. Sometimes he would trail off while speaking, as if he forgot he even was, he would forget a word and would need to be prompted by whomever was sitting bedside, more often than not Mike. 

One day when Mike was trying to walk without his crutches, he tripped, lost his balance altogether and crashed to the ground, screaming obscenities at the floor, so defeated that he refused to stand up for twenty minutes. 

“It’s no use, it’s no fucking use!” In the end, he did stand again, and all he could do was push forward.

Mike slept most of the time pressed up against Stan in his hospital bed, and the nurses and doctors had given up trying to make him leave. After a while they just conjoined the two of them in one room, two separate beds, but it didn’t matter. Mike laid there as the nurses took his vitals, he laid there when Stan had the stitches removed from his scalp, he laid there and listened to Stan’s quiet sleep breathing, just so glad that he could actually hear it because he was alive. Every morning when he woke up, he thanked the heavens he was alive, and every night before he fell asleep, he was grateful for it. 

It was two and a half months before they could leave the hospital, as well off as they could possibly be, with promises to come back and continue PT every Thursday. They missed Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and brought in the New Year surrounded by their friends in Stan’s hospital room. On January 23, they made their way back home, picked up by Bill and driven home, carefully, slowly. Stan was nearly apoplectic with fright getting in the backseat of the car, at first refusing to get in, and then after ten minutes or so going into some sort of catatonic state and just staring. Mike and Bill looked at one another. 

“We can walk if you want, baby,” Mike said quietly and that brought Stan back.

“No, no,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. He was wearing a green knit hat to keep the small patch of bare skin from getting cold, his cheeks already turning pink. “Just go slow, Bill.”

Bill confirmed that he would, and they got in. Mike buckled Stan, making sure the strap was pulled tight across his chest and then buckling himself in too before they pulled away from Derry Home Hospital. 

They drove mostly in silence, Stan staring out the window, his and Mike’s hands clasped together. He would squeeze tightly whenever they went over a particularly bumpy pothole. Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of the house, Bill carefully setting it in park. Mike and Stan went to unbuckle; Bill turned, throwing his arm over the space between the front seats. They paused and looked at him.

“So, it’s supposed to be a surprise, but…” He chuckled softly. “I didn’t think you guys would be in the best place for a surprise. So.” He looked to the house.

Mike smiled. “How many people is it?”

Bill offered them a shrug. “Us for sure. Nothing extensive.”

It was only the Losers and Audra, who had apparently been staying at the house whilst Mike and Stan recovered. But they had put up a set of banners and had music playing. The house was cozy and warm, a kind change from the frigid January air. The banners read ‘Welcome Home!’ and ‘Congratulations!’. They were immediately taken into a group hug, gently, of course. 

It was, according to Beverly, a dual engagement and welcome home party. “If the hospital had stopped jacking around we would have done this much sooner.” 

But they were so far away. Mike kept his hand on the small of Stan’s back the whole time, through the soft gentle kisses and tears from Audra, tales of the day that Richie snuck behind the ‘staff only’ barrier in the hospital cafeteria and stole 47 cups of chocolate pudding, and the subsequent escape that ended with him tripping on a patch of melting snow and smashing half of the plastic containers under his shirt and getting him a semi-permanent ban from the hospital, Eddie convincing Dr. Gray to give him an internship at the hospital, maybe he could go back to school and further his education in the medical field. They spent a lot of time snuggled together on the couch, exhausted from the trip home, exhausted from their time at the hospital, just exhausted to the bone. 

Stan rested his head on Mike’s shoulder, closed his eyes. Mike gave him a kiss on the hat he still wore. He knew he was nervous and would be for a while until his hair grew back. 

“Baby,” Stan said, his voice low. Mike looked at him.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Will you wake me up if I fall asleep? I don’t want to ignore the whole party. Eddie said something about cake. I would love to get the taste of hospital food out of my mouth.” 

He responded with a sniffling chuckle. “You can rest as long as you like. I’ll get you up.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” 

Mike closed his eyes, rested his head carefully against Stan’s. “Forever, I promise.”

 

They were married on the 26th of September 2020. The trees had all turned crisp autumnal shades of gold and crimson, leaves crunching underfoot. Richie indeed was the preacher, but he wore an actual suit of soft charcoal to match the others. Beverly was Mike’s best woman, Bill Stan’s best man. Eddie and Ben stood flank of Richie, unable to choose a side. Mike’s parents sat in front on the right side of the aisle, Stan’s parents sat opposite. It had taken a few months before Stan’s father spoke to Stan again, and even then, it took another four months for Stan to offer him forgiveness. They cried happy tears seeing their son walk down the aisle, Ben and Eddie on each arm. 

The whole night, the day of the accident was hundreds upon thousands of miles away, and they cried, danced, ate heartily. Mike looked over at Stan as Richie gave his toast, their fingers intertwined. He watched his face as Richie spoke, “These two beautiful guys would make even more beautiful babies if either of them had uteri, but alas, we’ve already got surrogate papers in the works for Bev –”, studied the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw. 

How could this be real? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was here now, a black and gold band on his own left hand, a gold one on Stan’s, and he saw the future expanding in front of them. Stan would get his Masters, they would buy a house, something with a front porch and an unfinished basement so they could make it their own, adopt a son, or a daughter, Stan would love a little girl, and they would grow old together. He saw Eddie and Richie maybe finally getting their shit together and marrying, or maybe just getting a dog, and a cat, or at the very least getting a shitty apartment somewhere in the city, in the middle of all the noise and the bustle. Ben and Beverly would definitely marry, buy a house but never be there, travel the country, come and see Mike and Stan’s children, maybe Bev would surrogate for them, that was up to her, and maybe they would hike to the top of Mount Everest and maybe Ben would build skyscrapers that licked the clouds. And Bill, well of course he would write a novel, five novels, maybe _fifteen_ , and he and Audra would live in the Cape and come visit them whenever they were in the Springs area. And by god they would live, and live, and live.

Their lives could not be measured in these little asides, these inhales and exhales. If they stopped to think about what had happened, or could happen, they could lose the moments with one another, moments like this, where he watched the muscles of Stan’s throat as he took a sip of champagne, and Stan turned to him, gave him a small, beautiful smile, leaned over, gave him a kiss. He would never miss another moment with this Loser, because every single waking moment would taste like that sweet, sunrise blue.


End file.
